


Floriography

by Endrina



Series: The secret language of plants [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-06 16:00:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 31,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12821004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Endrina/pseuds/Endrina
Summary: Epilogue to "the secret language of plants" series in the form of an advent calendar.





	1. The House

**Author's Note:**

> This is an Advent Calendar working as an epilogue for “the secret language of plant” series. I don’t think it will make any sense if you have not read the previous stories.  
> There are many pairings other than Harry/Draco and Remus/Severus but I don’t want to fill the tags detailing them when they get barely a few hundred words each. So, surprise pairings! Also, plenty of OCs, but you already know them.  
> Some chapters take place right after the Battle of Hogwarts, some years later. They are not in chronological order.

The day of the battle of Hogwarts everybody was in bed by nine pm. There was no big feast and no partying in celebration until dawn. They were _tired_.

Harry spent the night in there out of necessity, but the very next morning he took his things (actually Draco’s hand because he had lost everything else he owned) and said he was going. Hogwarts was very different now, and he liked the tour of the houses, but it had been a prison for five years and he was not staying. He was not. The mere idea made him want to throw up.

Draco followed him docilely because as long as he was near Harry and his music and his love then he wouldn’t have to think about his new orphaned status. Were you even an orphan if you were already of age?

Severus didn’t resign from his post as Headmaster because he was a responsible man, or knew about the concept of responsibility at the very least. However, he wasn’t about to make his life more difficult than it had to be. He declared that the Christmas holidays started now and everybody was welcome to go home if they wanted to. 

(Many parents were worried about their children and were elated to have them back. Many others, both children and adults, didn’t have a place to go back to. They could stay in Hogwarts, of course, for as long as they needed. The point was that Severus was free to come and go).

Technically, Harry and Draco were in the group of those that didn’t have a place to return. Harry’s childhood house didn’t have a roof; Sirius’ house was no more; he didn’t even dare mentioning Malfoy Manor because Draco had that look of careful suppression of emotions. He was of a mind of renting a room in Hogsmeade when Severus grouped them all (including Sirius), yelled “Deputy Headmistress” over his shoulder to McGonagall, and apparated them to the town of Cokeworth.

It wasn’t a very beautiful town. It wasn’t even plain beautiful. It was, in fact, close to ugly, depending on the day. It was a grey town of derelict brick buildings, a dirty river, and an abandoned mill.

Harry knew this place, was unaware of its ugliness, and he lightened up the moment they apparated by the smelly river bank. He had always thought that the mill looked interesting and that there ought to be a nice view from the top, if one were allowed to climb it.

“That’s the Evans’ house” said Severus, perhaps for Sirius and Remus’ benefit. Certainly not for Harry who knew very well the house with blue shutters. It belonged to a Polish family now, but that was the house where his mom lived when she was a little girl.

And a bit farther away from the river, enough that you didn’t get the smell, there was the other house.

***

Harry returned home at the age when most people start thinking about leaving. He also came dragging a boyfriend behind. The boyfriend had a deputy godfather, too.

The house of Spinner’s End had never been pretty or happy, not even when it had just been built, but Harry didn’t know this. Harry still thought the best of everyone and waited to be proved wrong. Just as James had thought that everyone had a happy childhood and loving parents like him and it wasn’t until he got to know Sirius that he realized this wasn’t necessarily the norm.

It had been a cold and unhappy house in a poor district of a grey sleepy town. However, Harry had managed to make warmth and be happy in Grimmauld Place, so this house had nothing to do against him. He stepped in and the temperate of the house, unused since the summer, instantly rose to a comfortable degree.

“Huh, it seemed smaller from the outside” noted Sirius innocently. Harry had been small when he last visited the house. He remembered it as a big place and big it was now, and nice and comforting and welcoming.

***

Severus would be the first one to jump to the occasion of changing houses, because he really didn’t like this one. But he also understood that a house with a roof was better than a house with no roof and only two small bedrooms, no matter the warm memories he had made there.

He understood this. He was a very reasonable and practical man. Still, that very first Monday after they had gotten the kids in new clothes (Sirius burned the old ones) they went to get some paint and other things to make the house look better. They may have gone a bit crazy with it because Severus had decent savings, Sirius had a small fortune and Harry had a very healthy fortune.

(Draco probably had even more money than all of them together, but Draco was still not thinking about that).

The point was that nowadays there was quite a lot of options to choose from when furnishing a house. When Severus was a child, there had been only one kind of strainer made of wire. That was it. Now you could easily find eight models with different coloured handles and this, somehow, was incredibly important. Just like the _shelves_ and _shelves_ of mugs with pretty patterns or humorous messages. And all that was before you got anywhere close to the actual furniture section.

Severus had still been using his old bedroom (it is too strange to occupy your parents’ room). It had his old bed and books, and the walls painted with cheap white paint because the room of a child didn’t deserve a nice wallpaper back then. The wallpaper was for the sitting room and Severus hated its tobacco-stained flower-patterned vision with a passion. He spent a whole day ripping it out with Sirius’ help and they burned it on the same place as the kids’ clothes.

But: his room. Only it wasn’t his room anymore but _their_ room. With a nice dresser that he had always wanted to have and a rug by the bed so their feet would always be warm when they got up. More importantly, they painted it. (They painted the whole house, there was now paint available in so many colours!). It was pink, which was not a colour anyone would associate with either Severus or Remus, but it was just the right shade of pink to bring light to the room without making it feel cold. It was the colour of a morning in May and they both loved waking up in that room, in their bed, in each other’s arms.

Harry and Draco took the master bedroom, emptied it of everything, and painted it dark blue and normal blue and light blue (different walls). Then they spent a whole afternoon and evening painting stars on the ceiling. They had the constellation of Draco and Canis Major, of course.

(“Me” would Sirius say proudly, pointing at the ceiling).

It was so nice, such a beautiful moment in which they made something together for the both of them, that the next day Draco finally asked Sirius to accompany him to Malfoy Manor. They returned hours later with red rimmed eyes and Draco laid on the floor of that room that was his, his and Harry’s, staring at the stars and feeling like he was going to be all right.

Sirius took a third room that Severus was quite sure used to be barely bigger than a wardrobe. He couldn’t decide about the colours so he painted it in three different kinds of red plus one ochre because he liked the word. It ought to have been ugly but it was oddly charming.

It was not the home of Harry’s childhood, but as soon as he spent a night there he knew it was home. There was a big kitchen (painted pumpkin orange) and a living room with books and LPs that covered the soft yellow walls from floor to ceiling. There was a TV with an old VHS player. On the second night Harry showed Sirius and Draco _The Little Mermaid_.

(Sirius liked the seagull best. Draco had question about the validity of the contract).

There was a small and dirty backyard outside, that with some work could become a nice garden. There was a nice spot in the stairs’ landing where one could sit to read. The kitchen was big enough to bake and brew a potion at the same time. Most importantly, there were Harry’s parents telling him to walk, not stomp, how can someone so small make so much noise coming down the stairs?

It was good. It was very, very, good. They were going to very happy in there.

***

Kreacher came on Wednesday saying that he ought to be “where the masters were”. It was not clear who he was referring to. He didn’t help with cleaning the house or painting it and complained when Draco got on his knees and painted the inside of the kitchen cabinet Kreacher had picked for himself.

For someone who claimed to dislike Harry, he spent a lot of time around him.


	2. Percy

Percy knew he was due for a nervous breakdown. Not in the general “oh, I am so stressed” sense, but in the “I am a seer, I have _seen_ it.” Plus, there was the whole undercover work and the surprising danger-seeking father so it was all quite understandable. He also knew it was going to be a big one because he kept delaying it and pushing it until later so Percy had _years_ of stress to unload.

The nervous breakdown had probably started after the Battle of Hogwarts, as they were calling it, once he had made sure that everybody who mattered was safe. But it had been interrupted by Oliver and rather than, dunno, laying on the floor unmoving for hours and maybe skinny dipping in the lake, Percy had spent the entirety of the following weekend shagging, which many would say totally counted as a nervous _something_ since it was quite out of character for Percy.

Come Monday morning he had dragged himself out of bed and to the kitchen to get some pumpkin juice, and right then and there he had decided that clothes were something that happened to other people and he refused to get dressed. Then he had filled a second glass of juice for Oliver and gone back to bed.

There had been and owl on Tuesday, or Thursday maybe, definitely a day starting with a T, asking him to come back to work. There was quite a lot of chaos in the Ministry. The usual after deposing a tyrannical regime: Many arrests, many dismissals for those suspected of Death Eater affiliation, many policies to overturn, prisoners to release, etc.

Percy looked at the letter. He had put on pants as a general concession to the universe and also because many surfaces were cold and/or scratchy. Plus Angelina Johnson had come to pick some of her things and she had asked him to.

“I really don’t want to.” He said pointing at the letter, not the pants. The pants would be off soon, in any case.

“Then don’t” said Oliver cheerfully. Oliver was very understanding and very handsome and Percy liked him a lot. “Besides, I am sure if you wait a week they will come with a better offer. Secretary of something at the very least.”

“I don’t think I will want that either.”

“All right.”

There was a second letter on the windowsill. A howler that Percy had been ignoring because he felt he could do that now. The red envelope hummed with tension and finally burst open with small flames and a faint smell of gunpowder.

## “ **I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU, PERCY WEASLEY!** ”

said Charlie Weasley’s voice. 

## “I—I AM—YOU DID!!!? WHAT? **I AM COMING FOR YOU**!”

The letter fell to the floor, its borders orange with fire. However, Percy didn’t pay much attention to it because Oliver had said that if Percy were to accept a job in the Ministry, maybe they could have kinky sex in his office (surely Percy would get his own office) which had led to having sex right there. And, again, later, when Oliver hunted down and old tie and a pair of robes so they could play the Stern Prefect handing out Unusual Punishments. They had had quite a lot of sex during the weekend but it seemed that they still wanted more, and, would you look at that? There was no one to stop them.

Oliver had 1) the best pair of thighs in the world, seriously. All that broom flying really developed the legs. 2) an excellent smell. Excellent. Soothing and rich, and Percy thought he might had dreamed with it.

Percy was very happy. In Oliver’s bed, he was sleeping better than he had slept in years.

***

It wasn’t much later, maybe two days, when they heard something like a big piece of canvas shaken by the wind, followed by a booming THUMP that shook the whole house. They went to the window to see what was the source of the noise, only to find a small green dragon sitting on the street before Oliver’s house.

Charlie Weasley had already jumped down from the dragon and was knocking, or perhaps _pounding_ , at the door. What was worse, so was Bill, who had been bidding his time to make Percy pay for not saying anything. Percy yelped, dropped the shawarma sandwich he had been eating (he was introducing Oliver to the many delicacies of the muggle world) and started running to the door. Unfortunately, his brothers got there before he could barricade it properly and then it was an honest chase through the house, the garden, and the street.

Oliver was no help at all since he was laughing too hard and couldn’t speak. Probably because Percy was mostly naked and the activities from the last few days hadn’t left him in any condition to be able to run. Charlie’s legs were also stiff from the flight so the chase had much of a fast shuffle, like people in an ice rink who don’t know how to skate.

In his defense, once Oliver got his breath back he did yell some encouragement to Percy. He also waved at the Critchleys next door and laughed as they stepped back quickly from the window. Then he went and offered a bag of crisps to the dragon to see if they interested him (they did).

***

After rejecting is old Junior Assistant to the Minister position, Percy was offered the Senior Assistantship, and after that, Director of the Prophecy Hall, and after that, Head of the Department of Mysteries.

He refused them all. Oliver was very supportive of his decision of not working ever again. All he asked was for Percy to consider growing his hair long because Oliver liked playing with his curls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The whole reason I made this calendar is that I had this scene plus Sirius' written and couldn't fit them in the last chapter.


	3. Sirius

Overall, Sirius had spent sixteen years of his life either as a prisoner or a fugitive. The months in Hogwarts, even when he was free to move around the castle, were still shadowed by the war and the dangers outside the castle’s walls.

Now he was free, truly free. Now he didn’t have anyone to avenge or protect.

(Except for how Harry was still Harry, and Draco was not having a good month, having lost both of his parents in a day, and Remus still dressed badly. Truly it was just Severus who seemed to be all right and he never thought that one day he would find himself thinking that).

Sirius now stood by the end of the precipice. Achieving one’s objectives can very well send a man down the bright yellow path of madness, or to the sandy black desert of boredom and depression. In Sirius’ case, however, he was only there briefly. He jumped between the two paths, between the madness and the misery, and danced over a nice white bridge that was surprisingly sane and led to happiness. A twisty and unusual path, but a good one all the same.

He started this new life path on Tuesday by taking the boys for a walk while Remus and Severus ostensibly went to buy more paint and other house supplies. (Sirius wasn’t blind. Sirius had spotted some hickeys on Severus’ neck. Sirius expected to get that novelty mug he liked for his efforts in providing privacy). He took the boys to explore the town, which was hideous but Harry refused to see it that way so it might actually be slowly turning prettier. It couldn’t be all that bad, Sirius mused, since it was the place that produced Lily Evans.  

They came close to the river, narrow, green, smelly. Not too deep, though. Deep enough that a small child could learn to swim there, if his parents didn’t mind him catching dysentery, but hardly more than waist-deep for an adult. Sirius stopped and took on the view. Then he grabbed Harry by the armpits (so small!) and tossed him down into the water while Draco watched and did _nothing_.

It was really lucky that Harry wasn’t wearing his nice new clothes because (even though they were _right there_ , Harry, _right there_ , on the chair) he had forgotten about them and dressed with something else. A combination of Sirius’ and Remus’ clothes, brought from Hogwarts.

“That’s for the horcrux thing!” Sirius said to a befuddled Harry who was mostly preoccupied with keeping his mouth shut so he didn’t drink any of the nasty water. Harry was so surprised that he wasn’t even angry, merely very confused. “For, for, for dying” Sirius went on, wagging a finger, “and not saying anything. Now get back here before you get cold.”

“He has a really big scar in his chest” said Draco, the bastard that he was, while Harry climbed back up. Slytherins, you can’t trust them at all.

Harry was dunk in the river once more for that, but right after he made his way to the shore for the second time Sirius took his hand and apparated him right in the house’s bathroom so he could shower immediately.

***

And after… after everything. After the battle, and getting his boys back, and helping get the house habitable. After being there and supporting Draco through the whole horrible business of burying his parents and sorting his inheritance… After getting an owl from the Ministry with his official pardon and seeing how Severus took it and sent it back with a very stern letter because Sirius never even went to trial to begin with so “pardon” wasn’t the proper term and it implied he was a criminal. After getting a second owl declaring him free of all charges and Remus got his pardon and Severus got a letter from Kingsley that was the equivalent of saying “not you too.”

After all of that, Sirius went and got a shave. Not too close. More like a trim that took him from escaped convict to sexy rascal. He also cut the split ends of his hair and applied some potions to make it shine and since he was in the grooming process, he put on some cologne.

He put on his leather jacket (a new one) and took his motorbike and drove to a small muggle village in Lincolnshire and waited for a certain lady to return from work so he could ask her if she wanted to go grab a bite? Or a coffee? Maybe they could go for a ride afterwards?

Sirius was happy to say that he delivered all this in a most appealing manner and she probably didn’t notice how much his palms were sweating.

She said yes. They walked to the local pub and had dinner while everyone pretended not to stare. After a while it was easy to ignore them because there was so much to talk about.

She declined going with him on his bike. “I do not ride… bikes” were her exact words and she smirked as if there were something funny and wicked in there. She did accept seeing him again next Friday, when her daughter would be going to Liverpool with the football team.

Her words became much clearer then, when, after Sirius walked her back to her house, she invited him in, took him to the bedroom, pushed him flat on his back and proceed to demonstrate the kind of rides she preferred.

Sirius laid there, absolutely starstruck.

He did pick up his wits pretty soon because this wonderful woman was letting him touch her breasts. He better not disappoint her so she would let him do it again.

It turns out that you can lose the chill of Azkaban when you lay your head to rest over someone’s warm chest.

A year later, they moved in together. 


	4. A promise fullfilled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like all the scenes of the calendar, but this one is my favourite. Enjoy.

Harry had made a promise. It was a promise to himself which are the most easily broken kind of promises, but Harry was honourable and stubborn and resolved to do it.

He was alone in the house. Severus was in Hogwarts directing the clean-up. The castle needed many repairs and they had a flock of firebirds that no one wanted to be responsible for, but none of it was deemed terribly urgent. The main problem was that there were many bodies scattered around the grounds and inside the castle, plus the blood and the flooded dungeons. They had to deal with that quickly to stop any nasty disease from developing and spreading, and there would be no getting rid of the smell if they waited.

Remus was… actually Harry couldn’t remember. Gone to their old home, he believed, to see if there was anything worth salvaging and then he would go to Hogwarts. Sirius and Draco were in London. Harry had accompanied them to the funeral home but now they had to go see a lawyer and Harry had been excused from that visit. He would grow bored and restless in under a minute.

So he was alone at home and he had made a promise to himself.

“Hey, Kreacher.”

*** 

Harry was still holding Kreacher’s dry and knobbly hand long after they had apparated in the cave by the sea.

It was a horrible place. It was cold, wet, and badly lighted, it had dead people in the lake and a door that required blood to open it unless you had a house-elf with you that could get you directly inside.

Harry stood a long time examining it all and taking measures. Kreacher, at his side, was very silent. Harry had released his hand so Kreacher was clutching the belt loop of Harry’s new trousers.

Eventually, they returned home, and the first thing Harry did was walk to the shop near the main square and buy four camping lamps so that the cave would have a bit more light. Also, light and fire repelled inferi so the lamps would be extra useful. He had never studied inferi at school, but he knew about them because before Hogwarts Harry had actually gotten a golden DADA education.

The problem was the inaccessible configuration of the lake. If Hermione were here she would have some clever suggestions of similar cases to read about, but she was gone to get her parents back from Australia and he didn’t want to bother her. Draco, too, had many things in his mind and Sirius was helping him so Harry didn’t want to bother any of them or rob them of their time when this was something that could perfectly wait.

It had been seventeen years.

There was no reason for Harry to be in a hurry and yet he felt like it couldn’t be delayed.

The problem was the lake, and the cave, and the aggressive inferi inside. These were all things that had to do with water and darkness so Harry reckoned that the solution laid in their opposites.

He wrote a letter to Seamus Finnigan.

_Dear Seamus,_

_I am looking for something at the bottom of a lake, inside a cave by the sea, under steep rocky cliffs. There are also_ inferi _in the lake. I don’t know if they had been mentioned in Hogwarts, but they are scared of fire. Thoughts?_

_Best,_

_Harry._

 

He got a letter back the next day saying that they could always blow up the top of the cliff to get some light on the cave. Just under these lines, in Dean’s handwriting, there was a paragraph saying that it was a terrible idea and not to do that. Seamus concluded that drying the lake would help and, in that case, Vincent Crabbe was their best bet. Apparently Crabbe had helped with the recent flooding of Hogwarts’ lower levels and before that he had made it his life mission to stop the creeping humidity of Slytherins’ common room, so he knew about fighting water.

A week later Harry had a cave by the sea with no lake and a deep sandy pit in which five hundred inferi stood puzzledly perhaps (if they were capable of thought) wondering where all the water had gone. He also had quite a lot of people with him behind the barrier of torches they had put by the lake shore. Vincent was examining his work with his hands on his hips and looking extremely satisfied, like he might next go outside and chop a tree down. Greg Goyle was also there, sweaty and happy, and Seamus, who didn’t want to miss the opportunity to make an explosion and indeed had made a small one to close the tunnels filling the lake with water.

The others had no real reason to be there, other than curiosity. It was mostly Slytherins and a few Ravenclaws who were taking this as an educational outing. Severus had dropped by at some point, told Harry to put on a jacket (which he was bringing for him) and be on time for dinner and then disappeared again. Draco had come too, when the lake was still half full and the inferi were sunk to their waists. He had looked at it, understood what it was, and when he looked at Harry he had seemed to be absolutely and painfully in love. He didn’t speak, but his eyes were saying plenty.

Now they all looked at the inferi, more numerous than what they had estimated when they began working in the lake. The place was packed with them. They were also trying to, to eat them, or crush them, since they couldn’t drown people anymore. It was only the line of fire keeping them at bay.

They looked like a very big problem.

“You know what?” said Ron, who had initiated the weekly hangouts at Harry’s and was getting a crash course on muggle cinema and culture. “I know who can help.”

*** 

“This…” he tried to say, but his throat was closed.

“Oh. My. God.” Said the second boy.

“They are…” whispered a third one, reverently. “Look at them, they look so real!”

“They are real!” cried a forth.

“A Christmas miracle” added a fifth one.

The five boys stared at the pit full of inferi, they stared at their reaching arms and moaning mouths opening and closing in the air and showing very sharp teeth. They looked at them not with the horror that they usually inspired in everyone else, but with childlike wonder.

“In all my life…” the first boy tried again. He was almost as tall as Ron, and twice as broad. It was hilarious seeing him standing next to Harry. “Never, you know it, never in all my life have I gotten a gift like this.”

“It really is not a problem, Dudley” said Harry.

“No,” Dudley said firmly. “This, this means a lot, Harry. Thank you.”

“It was Ron’s idea.”

“Actual zombies!” murmured Piers Polkiss like one would speak of a pile of gold.

Malcom took out a phone. His father was still mostly absent so Malcolm was always the first one in the gang to get the latest technology. His phone had a camera.

“I am looking for someone specifically,” Harry reminded them once more while Malcolm snapped picture after picture. “So if you could keep their faces mostly intact… He is about my height, black hair, don’t know if he will still have hair, lean frame.”

“No worries” promised Gordon.

Morbid and dismal as it was, it was a true Christmas spectacle. The five muggle boys descended into the pit with pounding hearts and, at Dudley’s signal, they positioned themselves in formation like the best online players. Then, they began their mission.

“I think people would pay to watch this” noted Theodore Nott who was eating chocolate wands and only sharing with the girls.

“You are not turning my cousin in a gladiator.”

“Just saying! They are spectacular.”

They fought for eight hours straight and only came back when the wizards casted some fire charms that sent the inferi scurrying away from them. They refused to apparate away and insisted they could sleep on the cave until they completed the level and cleared the lake. They made them go back home nevertheless with the promise that they would be taken back to the cave early the next morning.

The last inferi was knocked down of the 28th of December, and someone mentioned it was the Day of the Innocents which felt kind of right. Then it was a question of looking at the five hundred inferi one by one and finding which one used to be Regulus Arcturus Black. Harry had planned to do it alone, but he found himself with quite a lot of extra help. Not everybody stayed all the time, but they were there.

Some, like Luna, seemed to have apparated without house-elf help which everybody agreed was impossible but not particularly unusual in her case. She walked around with Ginny closing the eyes of the fallen inferi. They weren’t inferi anymore, she said. Now they were just dead people.

The belief of life after death was a bit complicated in the wizarding world because they had ghosts. But, regardless, everybody understood that there was something nasty about forcing a body to move, to wait, to kill for you, long after the person died.

An hour after dinner time Remus found Regulus’ body. He had the back of the skull crushed, but his face was all right, a bit pale and greenish perhaps, but umblemished. He looked tranquil.

“Oh, well. At least I already know current prices for tombstones” Sirius said bravely.

***

Regulus was buried in the wizarding section of the City of London Cemetery. On his gravestone, under the name and dates it said:

 

_Here lies a brave Slytherin_

_who deceived an evil wizard_

_and made the world better._

 

Fifteen years later the name Regulus would become fashionable and many children, Slytherin or not, would have that name. Sirius said that his brother would had been mortified because he was always shy and quiet. Everybody agreed that he would had been happy to see that a great majority of his namesakes became Ravenclaws.

And on his grave there was always a lighted lantern, so that never again he would have to be in darkness.


	5. The wedding

“I was thinking May” said Remus over the sound of the running water in the bathroom. “May sounds like a beautiful date for a wedding. But it isn’t, isn’t it? May is still kind of cold. June would be better.”

Severus, still laying in bed, only managed a grunt of agreement and the arising suspicion that Remus was deliberately bringing up the topic only when he was at his weakest: Happy and sated and laying in bed, feeling ridiculously in love.

It was a Wednesday of February and they were in Hogwarts so the idea of a warm day in June seemed very far away. Classes had restarted weeks ago and they had to stay in the castle during the week because they had a responsibility to the school and also because the other teachers would kill them if they both quitted their jobs at the same time. Weekends they spent in Spinner’s End and they were glorious and full of love.

The week in Hogwarts had its benefits since, ironically, the crowded castle provided them with more privacy. They were making good use of this by having quite a lot of worry-free sex.

“I know what you are doing” Severus told him after breakfast, once he felt more inclined to conversation. Remus smiled his special smile, his eyes glinting with the secrets of the forest.

***

Neither of them were religious. It is hard to instil the idea of a benevolent omnipotent figure on someone who was mauled by a werewolf when he was five. Severus’ mother had been, but all her visits to the church didn’t help her any more that her wand against her cruel husband, so Severus had refused to visit a church since before he turned eleven.

This made things easier. They didn’t have to choose a denomination and pick a church and book a day. They could simply walk into a registry and sign a paper.

Sirius was going to be one of the witnesses but he started going emotional as soon as they crossed the doors and by the time they had the papers in front of them he was so busy trying to contain his sobs that he couldn’t state his name for the officiant. Harry did it instead, which was also nice and made Sirius cry even harder.

Luna was the second witness. It was unclear if they had just coincidentally met her there or if she had known and came. She had her hair up and a silver dress which indicated she had prepared for something, but you never knew with her.

***

They got married without fuss, which was exactly what Severus wanted. Having gotten his way with this he had generously agreed to whatever else Remus desired. Remus liked people and if he wanted to have a meeting with his friends, Severus could give him that, now that the social imbalance wouldn’t be so glaringly obvious.

However, Remus had, for reasons only known to him, delegated almost completely in Sirius. He had said “I don’t know, just a small group of friends” twice and “I think a tent outside sounds nice” and that was all he had to say on the topic.

Sirius insisted that there was less than a hundred people, or something like that. All Remus knew is that he had never seen so many Slytherin women in one place and that the sight was slightly alarming.

***

Right before dessert was served Sirius rose to give his speech as Remus’ best-man. He spoke generously and unashamedly of Remus’ virtues and he peppered his speech with funny anecdotes, like the time Remus hid a grindylow in the Gryffindor dormitories (this prompted a loud “What?” from McGonagall) until two weeks later Kingsley made them release it in the lake (an even louder “What!?” from the same source).

It was a good speech. Emotive, sincere and fun. Everybody clapped, pleased to find that Sirius had performed his role so well. Sirius sat down and Remus leaned immediately towards him, smiling as he murmured his thanks to his ear.

Then Sirius rose again and went to take the chair on the other side of the couple, the one by Severus’ side. His formal jacket changed colours as he walked and by the time he was sitting in his new seat it was obvious he was matching with the other groom.

He rose once more and went through the motions of begging for silence. Severus’ expression couldn’t be described, but it was beautiful. Beautiful.

Sirius started his second best-man speech that no one had requested, certainly not Severus, by saying: “I always thought that Snape was a bastard.” He went on to explain why he had thought so briefly but accurately, making everyone terribly uncomfortable with the exception of Luna Lovegood who had her chin in her hands and was staring unblinkingly.

“Severus, however” he continued, happily ignoring the horrified eyes of the attendants “is a good man that I am happy and honoured to call my friend. We like the same music and the same people.”

Sirius lifted his glass, drank it, and sat down, ending the speech. He thought he had made his point very clear.

Dessert was served. It was cake made with fruits that shouldn’t be called a fruit cake. It was something more, something better. It was moist and sweet and with just the right touch of tartness. A wonderful mixture of sweet strawberries, a hint of cherry and a citric shadow.

Percy Weasley looked very disappointed. He hadn’t been invited to the wedding, but then again, neither had anyone else. The only actual legal guests were Teresa and her family. Everyone else either didn’t need an invitation because they were vital parts, like Sirius and Harry and Draco, or they had simply come when someone informed them of the wedding.

It was when dessert was halfway done that Luna Lovegood also got up from her seat. _She_ had certainly not been invited, but Severus had smiled faintly when he saw her and she had been sitting in the same table than them.

She clinked her glass. Silence was requested and achieved. She cleared her throat.

What a speech.

What. A. Speech.

For the next eight to ten minutes Luna proceeded to tell them everything there was to know about the characteristics, distribution, behaviour, diet and reproductive habits of the crumple-horned snorkack while her audience listened in a tense stupor.

Not only was it boring and irritating, they were, despite themselves, paying close attention to it in a reverential silence waiting for any sort of point to make itself known. The speech was so boring, so outlandish, that everyone was expecting something more out of it. Surely this couldn’t be it. There had to be a point to it, a punchline, _something_. Luna had not simply seen her chance to finally speak her piece about a stupid imaginary monster and hijacked the wedding to do so. Dear Merlin, please, someone make her shut up.

(Without a doubt, Hermione’s parents were the ones who best faked a polite interest. Mrs Granger didn’t even have to hide a yawn.)

“… and that’s all there is to know of the crumple-horned snorkack” said Luna with her bird-like voice. She took a sip from her glass, no doubt thirsty after the lecture. “I told professor Snape once, and he didn’t interrupt me. He is the only person to have ever done so.”

Which was true because Severus made a habit of actually listening to his students, no matter how inane their words were. It was also, in a roundabout way, a very poignant speech about Severus’ less-known virtues. It explained perhaps why there were so many women, and Slytherin in particular, in the wedding.


	6. Sirius again

Teresa’s kids (both of age now, so not kids) were prepared to hate (Olivia) or dislike (Eddie) Sirius. However, while mad and annoying Sirius was also an incredibly likeable person. Even those who hated him, like Bella, couldn’t help liking him also. Bella had hated him all the more precisely for that, because she also liked him. She liked the shine of his hair and his smile and his electric blue eyes and his talent for magic and conversation. She hated that he shared all those traits with people unworthy of them.

But Bella was dead. She didn’t matter, not any more. Teresa mattered, Teresa and her kids. Sirius was quick to drop his leather jacket on Eddie (he seemed to have a never-ending supply) and when Eddie didn’t immediately make a weird face Sirius took him out to buy clothes that actually suited him, and give him all the life (and love) advice the young man could handle.

“I… mmh, I… this is all very interesting” Eddie tried. Age had made him slightly less awkward, as much as he could be considering he worked making computer games.

(It wasn’t unusual to have people crying at their desks when the game engine refused to work. That makes for an _environment_ ).

“You can ask me anything you want about girls.”

“Umh.”

“Boys, too, if you prefer” said Sirius when he saw his hesitation. He had learned his lesson from Harry and Draco. He didn’t have as much advice in that area, but he was convinced that whatever he said would be better than anything that Harry or Draco or Remus and Severus could ever come with. Percival Weasley might have something to say, given how he had gotten himself such a handsome boyfriend, but the others had just stumbled into each other and were completely clueless.

“Ahm.” Said Eddie.

“Or…” Sirius wracked his brains because he saw that Eddie was well, but he wasn’t fantastically well, and Remus was right, the kid was very nice. Sirius just wanted to give him something good, something wonderful and magical, and not just because he was currently sleeping with his Mom and planned to keep doing so until they were both very, very, old. He wanted to do something nice for him because Eddie deserved good things.

“That’s all right, Mr. Black. Sirius. Mister Sirius Black.”

“We have to work on your public speaking” noted Sirius. “Anyway: girls, boys, any of them, both” Sirius said quickly waving his hand, and then, “Neither? I know a young man who is in love with dragons.”

Eddie’s eyes positively shone at the mention of dragons and not for the first time Sirius wished he could go kick that sorry excuse of a father who never told his son about them.

“I can take you to see some of them. The biggest sanctuary is in Romania and if you fall in love with them and want to stay, I am dragging you back all the same. I don’t want to get in trouble with Teresa.”

Eddie’s face was coming alight, as if slowly daring to believe that this man, this wizard, would keep his word when his father had not. Sirius felt something weird in his stomach, an emotion impossible to name.

“… and there is also firebirds. I can show you those first.”

Sirius was well liked by the family, is the point.

Olivia was a bit harder to win over because Olivia’s experiences with the magical world had been more frequent and highly negative. Eddie had only been rejected and abandoned by his father; but Olivia had seen the rejection of her beloved brother and coolest person in the world, her own dismissal years before she turned eleven and didn’t receive a letter, the kidnapping of her best friend and beloved neighbour, the desecration of their house, and more recently two murder attempts and some serious patronizing.

That Sirius didn’t have any part on it mattered very little. She was just predisposed to not liking wizards, even when she also joined the little friendly group at Harry’s.

The trick was that Sirius, who liked leather jackets and motorbikes and muggle music, didn’t pretend that the wizarding world was better. He didn’t expect her to fall in love with it and instead was happy to go to each and every one of her games. He cheered without being an embarrassment and when other parents shouted a bit too much, or when a middle-age man came to stare at their shorts-clad legs (he was always middle-aged and a bit balding, no matter the city. Usually different men but there were a couple of them who followed their tour and made the coach frown terribly), in those cases Sirius stood very close to them grinning The Black Grin and the parents stopped being a bloody nightmare and the creepy men went away and never returned.

He also took her flying. The first time in his bike and then, when she asked, in a broom. He gave her lessons until she could ride by herself and maybe it was just that, that he shared her world and then shared his even though she was muggle.

Sometimes Sirius had dreams about Azkaban, but the dream didn’t have the chill of the past and he always dreamed that he escaped, one way or another.  


	7. Olivia

They both claimed that it was the other who started it. That, as Harry introduced them, the other, not me, Harry, not me, you know me, it was the other one who extended his or her hand and said “Hi! I am Olivia/Ron, Harry’s best friend.”

Harry would say that was the end of the exchange of pleasantries, but there were no pleasantries exchanged at all. It was a war declaration because who exactly was this _fool_ who thought he/she knew better.

“I risked my life for him.”

“In primary school his last name was Fleamont and I never made fun of him, not even once.”

Ron had to bite his lips before answering. “Really, Harry?”

“To be fair, in that school there was a Shufflebottom, a Shipperbottom and an Applebottom. I don’t think there ever was a risk of people making fun of me. Also, her last name is Dawlish which rhymes with Owlish.”

“Well, he broke my nose the day I met him! And I still befriended him”

“Harry!”

“I was going through a lot.”

***

The truth was that Olivia was prone to anger and those were the angriest years of her life. She had been angry before, when they took her friend, and later, when she saw them loitering around his house and doing who knew what. She had been angry when she hit that wizard with an empty can and angrier still when they believed her absurd excuse that she had thought he was a wild boar because he wasn’t wearing a reflective vest. That they believed her to be so stupid, so un-menacing, so _muggle_. It drove her crazy.

That day with the men at their house… What they were going to do to her mum… Olivia had reached the peak of anger that day.

She was also angry later, when she learned what had happened to her dear friend Harry, and her beloved Remus (who was always so nice to Eddie and her) and even Sirius. She liked Sirius, how could she not? He had a motorbike and a leather jacket, but she couldn’t let it be known right away. Olivia had trouble showing her likes. 

She didn’t even dislike Ron. In fact, she found him pretty funny and he obviously was a good friend to Harry when he needed one. It’s just that there were some things like Honour and Precedence and she would fight for those.

But mostly, fighting with Ron was fun. With Harry she couldn’t fight, it was heart breaking, and they worked very well together in any case. (They were undefeated board games partners! Except with Monopoly where the Malfoy-Longbottom alliance swept the floor with them). Draco was too dangerous to fight him, he seemed to be the kind to pull long-term plans. But Ron, you could just fight him for the whole entirety of a Friday evening and still be friends the next day when you lend him your notes to study and he brought you yet another wizarding drink or candy for you to try and maybe admit it was good.

It was a war but it was a fun war. Other than that, Olivia liked Harry’s friends and they got along well. Especially with Hermione, even though on the surface they seemed completely different: Olivia had always struggled with studies and preferred sports. Hermione had a natural grasp for academia and would be happy if she never ever had to run. But they both had unmanageable curly hair, a muggle background, and liked the same people. They had a lot to work with.

***

When Olivia turned nineteen, Sirius sat her down and gave her an honest and well documented sex talk that was nevertheless quite embarrassing. She turned red and wanted to crawl out of her skin, but obvious discomfort had never stopped Sirius Black from talking, so he gave her his piece and years later Olivia would admit that it was good. She already knew most of that stuff, but Sirius explained it better than the health teacher.

Then he went and, and, and _said it_. The thing! The thing she had been trying so hard to ignore. Not even Hermione dared mentioning it and Hermione was always very honest with her. Harry would, but Harry wasn’t one to notice that kind of things. He hadn’t even known his parents were a couple, for god’s sake!

“Now, about the Weasleys” said Sirius, while Olivia’s face went from very dark red to ashen pale. “You know Arthur, don’t you?”

“Yes,” said Olivia weakly. Arthur, of course. She hadn’t seen him much, but he seemed like a cool guy. Asked the funniest questions. Mum had him convinced that planes stayed on air because Margaret Thatcher had ordered it so, until Eddie explained the truth.

“Balding, skinny but with a belly.” Sirius said with very illustrative gestures. “Yet that man has fathered seven children, Olivia, seven. Ron is sporty and much better looking. Do you understand what I mean?”

Olivia had crawled under the kitchen table.

“It’s just that I want to make sure that you take the use of protection seriously. You can’t take chances with the Weasleys.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keen-eyed readers might find here the key to unlocking an easter egg from the main series. That's all I will say.


	8. Ron

Ron went through a life crisis, as one is bound to go in such situations involving the vanquishing of a terrible evil. He had doubts about what he should do and how to live his life and what he should do right next. He sook refuge in Harry, who had had A Destiny since he was a toddler and should know about being special and famous. At first he was of little to no help because Harry hadn’t made much plans for the future given that he hadn’t expected to live that long. The plans he made were small and simple. Plans about being happy.

Percy was better help. Percy, who for the first time in years came to the family meal on Sundays. The first meal in a very long time in which everybody in the family was there, since Charlie had come unexpectedly to the country. They didn’t have their house anymore but the Order safe-house where their parents had been staying worked well enough. They didn’t fit in the small living room and the table extended into the corridor and the kitchen which made it all the more familiar, that feeling of being crumpled.

It was good, but it wasn’t easy. At times it was tense and emotional and suffocating and almost everyone had to excuse himself at some point to go get some fresh air and gather their thoughts. And that wasn’t even accounting for the war between Molly and Fleur.

Ron found Percy sitting in the stairs, his knees almost at the same height as his ears. Fred was outside with Ginny, trying very hard not to think about how close he had come to dying, so Ron would rather not go outside.

He sat two steps below Percy, his back against the wall.

“Do you know something?” Percy said. “You and Charlie, you were never in grave danger. I never had to worry about you.”

Considering the things Ron had done, he didn’t know if knowing this was good or not. He talked to a Basilisk frequently and Charlie worked with dragons. What the hell were the others doing?

“And I can’t see as well any more, but Ron, you are going to be fine. Just do as you were doing.”

So Ron decided he was going to be happy and Harry’s example wasn’t as bad after all.  

He studied for his NEWTs, he graduated, he announced that he was not applying to Auror school despite everyone’s expectations. He borrowed Olivia’s notes and studied with them enough to get a certification that allowed him to jump to the muggle world. He realized that for what he wanted to do he didn’t need to know too much about muggles to fit in. In fact, a certain lack of knowledge of current events seemed to help.

He studied Economics and Accounting, not because he was a squib or had his wand broken or any other reason why a wizard would turn to a muggle subject, but simply because he liked numbers and he was good with them.

(He also met a muggle girl and fell in love with her).

He studied Accounting and was obnoxiously good. Harry and Draco became his first clients long before he graduated because Harry had little idea of what to do with his money and Draco didn’t even want to touch his, not to speak of their incident in the bank. He also oversaw the twins’ business and that, plus a few others, was enough to keep Ron decently occupied.

From afar, it looked as if Ron had chosen and excruciatingly boring life path. Only from afar, because if anyone were to make a similar comment standing closer, Ron would jump to the occasion to prove that the definition of “assets” was in fact fascinating while his eyes sparked with mischief.

He accepted all requests for interviews. People were interested in his role in the war, the defence of Hogwarts, Voldemort’s death (“his name is Tom Riddle, people, get it right for Merlin’s sake!”) and his unusual career choice. His favourite answer was this:

“Let me ask you another question, instead. If a train leaves King’s Cross Station travelling at 70mph and at the same time another train leaves Hogsmeade at 100kmh, please note the change in speed units, when will the trains meet and can we avoid a crash through mechanical or magical means?”

“I… I…”

“People keep asking about killing Riddle, but these are the kind of problems we should be focusing on.”

***

When he was twenty five, Ron came to the realization that he was a carbon copy of Percy. Both were an in-between child, both were tall (taller than Bill, even when that had always seemed impossible), both had come to keep secrets without anyone suspecting and both had done great things in the war against Voldemort.

Also, they had both come to fall in love with a sport nut, named after the same tree and everything.

There had been a birthday or something of that sort, a family gathering in summer, and it had been decided that they should play some Quidditch after lunch. Olivia, being a muggle, claimed to only know the basics of the game, something that Ron knew to be a lie because they had often discussed the merits of Quidditch against Football. In any case, Charlie and Oliver had picked the members for their teams and Oliver had chosen her right after Ginny and before the twins, or Harry or Ron, who had all gone to Charlie’s team.

Oliver, of course, could recognize a fellow athlete when he saw them. He had requested half an hour to show Olivia how to fly and then they had begun the game. Olivia wasn’t a good flier. She was better than Hermione, who was terrified of broomsticks and refused to get on them at all costs, but she was not good. She grabbed the handle with both hands and didn’t let go which was the standard position for flight but not very useful in a game where you had to catch a ball. She flew bent over her broom and holding fast with both hands. She also had her legs free (excellent legs, Ron was a big fan) and they soon came to realize that while she was useless with the snitch or the quaffle, Olivia could send the bludger right at you with one single kick and she could meet the twins step by step. Ginny’s screams of encouragement in the background did not help at all, especially when she yelled that Olivia had her permission to throw them out of their brooms.

Oliver’s team won. Ron wasn’t even mad.

***

Oliver recruited Olivia for the Puddlemere United. There was quite a lot of comments and some derision and people saying they were only doing it for public relations and that a muggle couldn’t possibly compare and it was all so they would look good in the new Ministry.

Olivia didn’t let their opinions stop her. It was true that, being a muggle, she had a bit of a handicap and sometimes she couldn’t see the snitch very well. But according to the team’s captain neither did most of the Seekers of the other teams so she shouldn’t worry about it. Besides, Olivia was an excellent Beater.

She was also a true professional and didn’t send the bludger towards the nasty sport commentators. It was always a thing in sports, and she knew how to ignore them. In any case, the people holding ugly signs that made fun of her hair, her skin, her muggleness and her last name, invariably found themselves staring into the very blue and very electric eyes of Sirius Black, who went to each and every one of her games and liked to stand mere centimetres away from their faces, grinning.

The only time it seemed like there would be a problem was when the Puddlemere was scheduled to play against the Holyhead Harpies. Ron didn’t know what to do and who he was supposed to support and seriously considered making a surprise visit to Charlie.

“Ron, she was your sister first” said Olivia. “You cheer for her.”

“You sure? Oh, thank you, Liv, you are _wonderful_.”

“Besides, she is going to need all the support she can get after we beat them to the mud.”

“ _You_ _WITCH! I heard that!_ ”

“Good. So you know what’s coming for you, Weasley.”

In the end, the Harpies got the snitch but the Puddlemere won and Ron went to visit Harry to get out of the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ron didn't mention the distance between the two stations, so the problem is unsolvable.


	9. Hermione

Hermione didn’t break up with Ron because they never got to be together to begin with. They hadn’t even shared a kiss.

They tried. They loved each other very much and the world was convinced they loved each other and was expecting them to get together. So they tried. Put on some fancy clothes and went to have dinner and they tried to kiss and both of them got the giggles and couldn’t do it. Thankfully, they realized at the same time that yes, they loved each other, but not that way. They loved each other like siblings or very good friends. They loved each other and they would fight and die for the other one, but they wouldn’t have sex. The spark just wasn’t there.

Honestly, the world would be more disappointed that they were. They were just happy to have realized it early so they could avoid ruining their friendship. They went along with the date and got some ice-cream to celebrate.

Hermione didn’t date anyone for a while. It was enough that she had her friends. She also wanted to spend some quality time with her parents and her cat and she wanted to continue with her studies. She was busy. She would be busier still when the very same day she got her advanced degree in magical law Suruchi Sudabar came to the graduation party with a job offer.

At twenty four, Ron warned her because they loved each other and they had each other backs and Hermione had helped him a lot while he studied Accounting in a muggle university. Ron’s warning was: This guy has been in love with you for the past ten years and I think he is finally ready to ask you out.

George, like the rest of the world, had been sure that she and Ron would get together and had resigned himself to a life of secret agony. But now, after seeing that Hermione was actually good friends with Ron’s girlfriend, he began to think he might have a chance after all.

Ron warned her, mostly so she could think whether she wanted it or not and offered to stop him before he asked so she wouldn’t have to reject him. Ron was truly the greatest of friends.

But Hermione thought about it and found that he had always made her laugh and he was talented and a bit more polished now, so she would let him ask. Just ask and see where it took them.

George managed to surprise her. He came dressed in an understated dark blue that really suited him (Sirius’ doing) and formally told her he would like to take her on a date: Late breakfast at a new café followed by a matinée play in the theatre.

“I do like breakfast” Hermione had said. That was a lie. She _loved_ breakfast. She got up earlier than needed just so she could have orange juice and toasts with four different kind of marmalades and a latte, when she didn’t have bacon and eggs and sausages and even the tomato. She loved starting the day slowly and with something tasty.

She also liked theatre very, very, much. Not many people knew that because sadly there hadn’t been any opportunities to enjoy theatre in Hogwarts, but she liked it a lot.

“I must warn you” George had said. “I had to sell my soul to Draco so he would tell me about this. If we ever get to that stage, we can not get married because I promised I would let him pick our kids’ names.”

However, they did get married. There was a lot of malicious speculation on what would Hermione Granger, the rebel girl of Hogwarts, do. Of course the Slytherin girls were even more rebellious but, being pureblooded, there had never been that unconscious prejudice against them. Even after the war, Hermione was judged with higher and stricter rules because, put simply, she was not a real witch. There was the question then of what would she do, this young woman playing the politics game and making a name for herself (and house-elves, she would say, the point was giving voice and vote to magical creatures). Would she take the Weasley name? Would she, gasp, _hyphenate_? Would she keep her maiden name and thus reveal that she was nothing more than an ambitious shrew woman unfit for marriage and motherhood who only married a Weasley for their political connections and new fortune?

The wizarding world still had a bit of conservative attitude towards women, you see.

Hermione didn’t just keep her name, oh no, she did something worse. Namely, not stopping her new husband from taking _her_ last name.

George argued that there were enough Weasleys in the world and as long as he kept his head full of hair nobody was going to have any doubts about his origins. So it wasn’t a big deal if he forsook the Weasley name and it would be bloody disgraceful if he didn’t take the gift of alliteration that Destiny had bestowed upon him.

At this point Fred’s head could usually be seen over his brother’s shoulder, nodding quickly and with fervour. “Alliteration” he would mouth. Not a term wizards were familiar with, even if they did have an affinity for the concept.

“George Granger” George would say, grinning. “That’s four gs and three rs.”

(Fred started a campaign to convince Angelina Johnson to take the name Fffrrdrrfdd upon their marriage).

***

Draco almost got away with it and Hermione’s first and only child came very close to being called Rivalvantinus, which was _your owl’s name, Draco! I am not saddling my precious child with that name_.

They called him Hector which was a nice name with a knightly ring. Absolutely no one ever called the boy that because Draco, the sneaky bastard, managed to get Rivalvaltinus as a middle name and it was too fun not to call him that instead.

As predicted by Harry, Riv did get music and language lessons and his uncle Ronald tutored him in math. What no one had predicted (and Percy got a lot of grief for not saying a word about it) was what a horrible idea this was. Education was all good and nice, but Riv was the kind of boy who should be kept in the most profound ignorance.

The kid was really cute. That’s why everybody had been distracted and didn’t realize sooner that the Brightest Witch of Their Generation had _bred_ with one of the Biggest Pranksters of the Century and what exactly did they think that would happen? That was Percy’s defence. It should had been obvious.

Reports said that Minerva had been heard saying that she would pay for the French lessons herself if only the boy was sent to Beauxbatons.

Riv was not malicious. Oh no. He was nice… Just as Harry was nice. Riv was simply magically talented and a little bit naughty, and giving him an education only encouraged his natural curiosity. It was just safer for everyone involved not to teach him how to do certain things.

Remus had laughed until he pulled a muscle on his back when he heard that Hermione had showed the kid “Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.” Of course two days later the kid’s father and three of his uncles were all blue and bloated. Remus had been gracious enough to share some very useful advice on child rearing of insanely talented kids and everybody learned to never accept any kind of food from Riv.

“I never did any of that!” Harry had argued.

“Because I controlled the kind of movies you watched. You made the cutlery fly.”

“Last week he read _The Jungle Book_ ” Draco had said, perfectly serious, “and a tiger appeared in our kitchen and didn’t vanish until the next morning.”

George got up, still blue and round, and started to inspect his son’s children books.

Hermione had her name on the newspaper every two days, she had a very ugly scar on her left arm, and she had a life in which none of that mattered.  


	10. Minerva

At the end of the course, Severus resigned of his position as Headmaster and Minerva McGonagall became the new Headmistress. Severus went back to his position of Professor of Potions and Head of House since Slughorn had been retired and it was only Albus’ machinations that brought him out of retirement, something that Horace kept reminding to everyone. Minerva still had to find a Deputy Headmaster or Headmistress and a new professor of Transfigurations, and a Head of Gryffindor House, she supposed.

They were keeping the same DADA teacher for once, which was a nice change. They had been using the same text to advertise the position for the last fifty years and it was nice to draft a new one. There were also many letters to send, changes on policy and curriculum, repair works on the castle and Sybill being herself. But they could all wait until August and if the term started and they didn’t have everything ready, well, it still wouldn’t be one of their worst years.

So once June and the exams (and the wedding of those two idiot trouble-makers) had passed, Minerva packed her suitcase and booked herself a month of vacation in Mallorca. She hadn’t gone on vacation since before James Potter went to Hogwarts.

It was hot and she didn’t particularly like the sand or being under the sun, but she could work on it. She got herself a long white dress and put on sun lotion, being extra careful with her nose, cheeks, and the back of her neck. She went and sat herself under a shade.

It was nice.

She put her head back and closed her eyes.

Even better.

She ate a lot of seafood. The mussels with tomato sauce were exquisite. She slept whenever she felt like it during the day and didn’t wear a watch. She read a lot of books by Agatha Christie and P.D. James. She liked them, they had strong women wearing sweaters, much like she had done in her youth (and whatever you called the time before your fifties). The bad guy was always found and punished and no one became an animagus illegally.

Sometimes the reveal was a bit too hard, it was unexpected in a bad way that made her think of the time they thought Sirius Black had betrayed his friends, and the time they discovered it was actually Peter. When that happened she went for a walk on the beach, letting the sun and the wind touch her face, and the sea kiss her feet and the hem of her dress. She did that until her stomach didn’t hurt any more.

She also read the letters that arrived every three days. They were from Sirius.

The first one said that unfortunately, and through no fault of Minerva, Sirius couldn’t keep courting her because he had fallen for another woman. He went on to describe said woman, apologizing profusely and acknowledging that it might be tasteless to talk of the new love to the old one but hoping that it would provide a satisfactory explanation of his change of heart.

Minerva felt a pang of sympathy for that unknown woman.

“ _Why, Black?_ ” she wrote back. “ _Black, we are not friends. No, Black, stop. Don’t write to me._ ”

She received a letter two days later with a continued description of the woman, Sirius’ plans for the future, best wishes, and some random information about how everyone else was doing. Enclosed was a coffee label with a nice design, for her perusal and enjoyment.

“ _Black, I seem to remember that you used to do crosswords. Unless you were merely filling the boxes with random letters, this indicates that you have a basic grasp of literacy and spelling. You have misspelled the name of your own godson thrice and I don’t know what happened to get to_ Seveneresus. _”_

The next letter had her name misspelled in the envelope. Minenervate McGonagall.

But the letters were really good for those times when she remembered that the man had been imprisoned and she felt as if a fist were closing around her heart. They helped a lot whenever she thought of Albus and all the pain his actions had brought. She read them, clutched in shaky hands, desperately looking at the words that told her that the damage hadn’t been lasting, that there was happiness after all.

The letters were from Sirius, but it seemed that he had become a sort of vessel for everyone else. He wrote, in his stream of consciousness style, that Weasley (Ron, but to her Weasley meant only him now) had found a muggle novel about chess that he would be glad to lend her once he was done with it. Attached was a picture of Harry and Draco playing in the garden of their house, both with green stains and happy eyes. There was also a list of Hogwarts professors who had said “not me” when asked about stepping to her old position of Deputy Headmistress. A star next to the name indicated they had also touched their nose when saying it, which brought a page-long rambling about integrating muggle customs and how Remus was being very close minded when he refused to accept nose-touching as an excuse to avoid helping with the laundry. He also noted that Sybill’s name was not on the list, in case she wanted to take it under consideration.

Minerva went and got herself a beer. Women of a certain age are not allowed to drink beer, it would seem, only wine or gin and only if they do it secretly and slightly ashamed. She signalled the waiter to also give her some crisps while she thought about Parkinson’s ideas on femininity and about how she was going to have a beer if she damned wanted to.

***

_Dear Minerva, beautiful tower of wisdom and temperance._

_Little has happened since I last wrote to you. I am feeling well and sleeping wonderfully, thanks for asking. I hope you vacations are going well. If that obdurate fool keeps pestering you, just let me know and I will deal with him. Unless you meant me and in that case let me tell you that I am not vain, it is not my fault that I am this naturally beautiful. I will not contest the fool accusation, though._

_That is all I have to say on my part. Senerus wants me to tell you that he fixed the Deputy situation for you. Apparently he said that you were seriously considering Sybill for the appointment and he was so convincing that they got worried you might mean it. Then he said that he thought you had only told him so because you wanted to name someone unpopular and if it meant avoiding Sybill they would accept anyone without complaints._

_He looked at me when he said “someone unpopular” and I must say that I think I would do a better job than Sybill._

_Anyway, Aurora Sinistra volunteered and they even looked for an old rule so that three Heads of House could swear her in. Selenus says that Slytherins are pretty easy to manipulate despite what one might think, you just have to let them think they are being clever._

_Speaking of Slytherins, Darco made a drawing that I like. I have enclosed it. It depicts Godric Gryffindor and I thought you might want to use it as a bookmark. For that same purpose, find a four leaf clover from Harrry and a drawing of a cat (Lnua). There is also a candy wrapper, that one is from Alice Longbottom. The booklet is from Ron. It is a new game called Sudoku. It’s like a crossword but with numbers and therefore less fun._

_Until I write to you again, have a good holiday, my dear. Teresa sends her best wishes, too._

_Xx_

_Sirus_

 

***

McGonagall returned after her month long vacation knowing that she had gained at least half a stone and that she had lost a decade of age.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the recent BBC show “The Night Manager” they mention how good the mussels in a Mallorca restaurant are. Mussels with spicy tomato sauce are often called Scottish in Spain, so of course Minerva would enjoy them.


	11. Neville

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my second favorite scene because the plot left without me.

This isn’t Draco’s story, even though he played a big part in it.

 

Draco had inherited a manor in which he didn’t want to set a foot, and a fortune tainted with poison and pain. He was desperate to get rid of the house. He had offered it to Sirius (“nah, I like my room”) to Andromeda (“not my side of the family, dear”), to the Weasleys who had lost his house to a fire and surely should want a manor with multiple bedrooms and yet they perplexingly refused it. Hermione rejected it too, which he had been kind of expecting, even though her parents had lost their life savings with the move to Australia and the move back.

“Roses, you say? I have roses!” Draco had exclaimed excitedly and sounding a bit mad, just like Sirius. “Spring and summer roses but also winter roses, very rare. Roses all year long. Forget about the house if you don’t want it, but take the terrain. It’s beautiful. My mother—” he had stopped suddenly, swallowing with difficulty. His eyes were shining. “She took very good care of the garden.”

So Neville had said yes.

***

But that conversation happened later. _This_ happened before, on the day of the battle of Hogwarts, or maybe the day after when they were all walking around dazedly and trying to start the clean-up.

Augusta Longbottom had been injured although not severely. She was waiting on a bench outside the infirmary with all the others who were hurt but could wait. She was tired and maybe a bit in shock so she kept telling to whoever was close to her than her son had died, her son, Neville’s father, you see? _She_ hurt him so Augusta had killed her, that bitch.

On the bench in the opposite wall Arthur Weasley was sitting between Fred and George. Their dazed repetition that Percival was Galahad, can you believe it, he is Galahad, was much funnier so people preferred paying attention to them than to Augusta.

“My boy… She took my boy, and Alice too. She wouldn’t let them rest. She would go after them.”

She was grabbing Neville’s hand so hard that the tips of his fingers were going white. He kept his hand there, though. Whatever else Neville was feeling, he could tell that Augusta needed him.

From the stairs at the end of the corridor emerged the Scary Elderberry, Lonny or Lotty or something like that, followed by Pansy Parkinson who was crushing on her very hard. Elderberry seemed to be amused by it. Pansy was too young and female to spark her interest (not that she was adverse to women, but she preferred men). She liked Pansy, though, and since the girl was following her around she was happy to take the role of a mentor.

Augusta glared at them as they walked towards the infirmary. They were Slytherin and brunette like Bella was.

“My boy… lost” she mumbled, or something like that. “She is to blame, she too, she didn’t…”

“See?” said Lorna Elderberry clear and loud to Pansy. “People will always have prejudices and expectations on you. Don’t bother fighting them. It is a waste of energy and rarely achieves anything.”

She looked around and snatched a piece of parchment from Arthur’s pocket and a quill from someone else’s. She bended over the windowsill to write something, glancing at Pansy to make sure that the girl was noticing the elegance of her posture.

“You have to use their prejudice in your favour. Here.” She handed the parchment to Neville, who was sitting in silence. “Your parents are in this address. Now, the woman caring for them is very obdurate so she will want some proof that you are not someone polyjuiced. I have no idea what sort of thing she likes, but I believe a box of chocolates would be an adequate gesture.”

“Did professor Snape also give you drama lessons?” whispered Pansy as they entered the infirmary and walked away from the Longbottoms and their tears and their thanks.

“Expectations!” Lorna repeated. She was too old to have been Snape’s student but they had both gotten some very good notes from the previous Astronomy teacher and from that DADA professor. The one whose cape got stuck in a train door and chocked. “See,” she said, relishing her next words. “Mister Moody here firmly believes that I eat snake’s heads for breakfast, and he will do anything to avoid that vision or anything to do with me.”

She pushed a curtain aside. “Mister Moody, what’s this I hear that you are refusing treatment?”

Pansy thought it was all very educative.

***

Neville went to the address Lorna Elderberry had given him that very same day. He brought the box of chocolates even though it felt terribly inadequate to repay what Ernestina Pileski had done.

“It was no trouble, really” she told him over a cup of tea, the second one. The first one had gone cold while both of them cried. “They are a very sweet couple and they behaved really well. They hardly had any tantrums. And look!”

She showed him some sort of scarf knitted with candy wrappers. Ernestina said it had been done by Alice and that she liked doing things with her hands, they both did. Ernestina had thrown some costumes over the couple and let them out on her back garden where they spent the mornings, while she had to work on St. Mungo, caring for the plants.

Ernestina had an old and almost dry rosebush by the wall. During the summer they had cared for it and fought by hand the aphids infesting it, removing them one by one.

“It’s a pity they have to go back” said Ernestina almost absentmindedly, her cup loosely held between her hands. She was looking to the side, to the middle-aged couple asleep in her sofa holding hands. “I mean, oh dear, don’t take me wrong, that sounds horrible! Of course they should—It’s just that they were doing fine here. I think they will miss the garden in St. Mungo. Of course they receive good care in there, is the top magical medical care facility in Britain. But the building is a bit gloomy, you know?”

“It is greedily ugly” said Lorna Elderberry to Neville the next time he saw her, when he went to say her thanks. “And budget allocation answers to the recovery rate so the long-term ward receives the smallest budget. People expect me to embezzle the money because I am a Slytherin, but there really is nothing for me to misappropriate.”

***

Malfoy Manor became a long-term recovery facility. They had a big building, beautiful gardens and money to cover all expenses. Lorna Elderberry was happy to take the thankless job of directing the institution and she didn’t even ask for a high salary, which she very well could. All she wanted was free range of action and to have her portrait in a place of honour.

Neville did a lot of crying during that time. So did Augusta. The tears helped to mend their relationship, even though there would always be a strain. As Neville had said, she hadn’t been good to him and saying sorry later didn’t erase the pain.

Alice Longbottom did like the roses, but the one who really enjoyed the garden was Frank. While in St. Mungo he had been the most quiet of the two of them, but in here he seemed to come awake. He liked working in the garden and there is always a lot to do in one. From picking the chestnuts to pulling bad weeds to fighting back the mint taking over the other herbs. His cheeks became rosy and his eyes acquired a shine they hadn’t had in years.

They were not the only ones in there. It was also the place where Lavender Brown went to heal after she was well enough to get out of bed but not enough to go back to classes. The manor smelled of orchids and vanilla and seemed to have been taken by a sort of white calm presence. It was a good place to go slowly and take your time to heal. You would think that a place that had housed Voldemort and Bellatrix for so long would have more of a malevolent presence, but it actually felt clean and airy and absolutely serene.

They called it _Narcissa’s Mayor Institution for Long-Term Care_. Draco didn’t think that it should have the Malfoy name and Andromeda told him that she doubted that Narcissa felt anything particularly positive of the Black name so plain Narcissa it was. They put her portrait in a well-lit place, white flowers by the entrance, and her grave in the rose garden; and it all felt right and good and well.

Sirius came with Draco many times and the great thing about Sirius was that he got things intuitively. He knew when he had to be there, he knew when he had to say something to lighten the mood and when he should make himself scarce. It was during one of the latter times that he went looking for the Longbottoms. Once found, and since he hadn’t aged that much (or maybe he had rejuvenated in the last few years), they recognized him.

He proceeded to flirt shamelessly and outrageously with Alice, who smiled and laughed a bit and answered back almost like anyone would. Frank came soon after, drawn by the sound of his wife’s laughter. He may have forgotten many things due to the torture and the shock, but just as Alice could never forget that she was the mother of a son, Frank didn’t forget that he had once gotten Alice Corridan to date him and maybe even marry him. He set himself at once to defend his territory.

Sirius flirted with him too, which made Alice laugh even more.

He also went to talk to Lavender Brown because someone had told him that he girl was avoiding the mirrors. He came armed with a colour chart and a few leather bracelets and afterwards Lavender still avoided her reflection but she felt better about going outside. She also had Bill Weasley’s address in case she wanted some advice on how to rock werewolf scars. She shouldn’t ask Remus Lupin though, because Remus was hopeless and if it weren’t for Sirius he would wear cardigans and tracksuits.

***

They took care of everyone there regardless of whether they were good or not. Nott Father stayed there for two months while he regained his ability to speak and he got his nose to its usual size. Elisia, too, stayed there following the sun and rarely getting more than a grunt out.

They also saw some improvement in their patients, more than when they were in St. Mungo. Keeping them active was good for them. The Longbottoms were more talkative and had less panic attacks even if their memories were as bad as always. Eric Osborne, who had spent the last fifteen years speaking nonsense, began communicating in well formed sentences. He did it through a sock puppet, but at least he could say if he was hungry or cold and that was a huge improvement.

Because she was blonde and female, Gilderoy Lockhart took to standing next to Elisia and chattering non-stop about all of his achievements. You could usually tell the hour from where did you hear Gilderoy talk, since Elisia followed the sun like a sun dial. After ten months of enduring his company Elisia finally lifted a hand, extender her index finger, and zapped him. He wasn’t hurt too much since she didn’t have a wand.

***

Neville spent the next few years feeling rather well if slightly melancholic at times. His parents were doing well although they were not fully recovered and they would never be. He was free from his grandmother’s influence and he had even gotten to a place somewhere near cordial with her, although not close and affectionate. To say the truth, Neville didn’t think he had ever loved his grandmother. She was too strict to allow any love to grow.

He studied Botany and Herbology for two years in Ireland. Spent six months in a special program in Firenze. Then he returned to England and found work in a botanical garden where they grew plants for decoration and potion ingredients. Occasionally, he felt a bit lonely, but Harry had told him that all the young people from the war felt that way at times.

He got a muggle girlfriend, Laura, who was nice and completely uninterested in magic. They went out for a year and then they broke up when she moved to the States to pursue a PhD in linguistics. He was sorry, but not too much, so Neville judged it all for the best.

He was on his thirties and still working at the botanical garden when the African Tentacula they had been expecting arrived with two full-grown spiders, free of charge, and the possibility of hundreds of eggs.

Neville was the one who had to remove the plant and put it somewhere isolated simply because he was a Gryffindor and it didn’t occur to him to run away screaming (unlike everyone else, workers and customers alike).

They asked for help and got Lee Jordan to come. Lee was a Naturalist, a carer of magical and non-magical creatures, although everybody thought of him as radio broadcaster. His radio program on weekends was insanely popular even if no one was sure what exactly it was about.

That was Lee: He came, he saw, he laughed and he was of great help. So great that Neville felt he ought to invite him to a pint for resolving the spider issue in mere hours. They went out, they laughed a lot, drank enough to feel a bit warm and fuzzy and tingly, and laughed even more. Then they said their goodbyes and they kissed.

They kissed some more. They went to Neville’s place, which was closer, and they fell on the couch, still laughing, and had sex right there. This came as a bit of surprise because neither of them did casual sex and they both considered themselves straight. They chalked it up to the alcohol.

The good-morning blowjobs were a bit harder to justify.

“Aren’t you surprised?” said Lee, resting his head on Neville’s tight. It was unbelievable that Neville had once been chubby and clumsy. It was unbelievable that he had once been a boy when he now looked like the default picture of A Man. “I am very surprised. Fred and George aren’t going to believe this.”

“Do you tell them everything?”

“I tell everything to everyone” answered Lee happily.

Two days later Lee came to see Neville right at the end of his work shift and told him that the twins demanded more details and would he mind providing them? Neville didn’t mind and this time they did it right, a proper date with dinner and a walk afterwards and many other things later that night full of interesting details that were not approved for a general public.

People still didn’t know what Lee’s radio show was supposed to be about, but there was sudden and permanent increase of trivia about plants.


	12. Hagrid, sort of.

“Godric!” hissed Helga Hufflepuff. Well, the statue of Helga Hufflepuff. It was unclear whether or not they were one and the same. The statue of Rowena Ravenclaw was sure that her flesh counterpart had been taller.

The statue of Godric Gryffindor looked guiltily over his shoulder, his right hand extended to flick the tail of one of the firebirds.

They had beautiful tails, long, and shiny, and asking to be flicked. That was true and it was fair. The firebirds provoked the impulse to touch them and flick them and pet them. However, people didn’t do any of that because they had enough sense to see that it would be a bad idea. If the fire didn’t kill you, their beaks and claws would.

You could see how Godric Gryffindor was a Gryffindor.

“No!” added Helga Hufflepuff. Godric still hadn’t back his hand back.

The worst part was that Salazar Slytherin was at his side, obviously egging him on. Honestly, that man. Fortunately, the half-giant entered the yard in that moment so the firebirds all went towards him while the statues climbed back to their pedestals.

What an interesting man. Hagrid, was his name. He insisted on treating the firebirds like nothing more than chickens (something understandable, perhaps, given his height) so of course Godric had abandoned all sense and tried to touch them too. Only the half-giant wasn’t flicking their tails but petting their heads and sides and generally being very nice.

The firebirds were tired, nervous, confused, and had a deep wet chill in their bones that was making them even more antsy. The half-giant looked both ways before taking his pink umbrella from his belt. He waved it and immediately lighted two big bronze braziers he had personally dragged from who knew where. There was a loud cluck of happiness and satisfaction and the firebirds shuffled quickly to the heat.

Really interesting.

“Did you see that? Did you _all_ see that?” asked Salazar Slytherin barely able to contain himself. “Ohohohohoho. Look at that! That man has an _illegal_ wand.”

It was an experience seeing the utter and absolute _joy_ Salazar had at seeing someone break the rules. He had written half the code of conduct of the school as a challenge to see how people would navigate those rules. If through the years Hogwarts had acquired new regulations, you could bet that Slytherin had been whispering on the ears of those who pushed for them.

He had been so happy the day they casted the charms to block apparition in the school! It would hardly matter to students, who couldn’t apparate anyway, and it was going to be a real nuisance for the adults. It was as good as the first time a girl realized that while boys couldn’t visit them in their dormitories, girls were free to do so.

“I remember him” said Rowena. Of course she did. “Expelled on his second year, I think. When there was that trouble with your basilisk.”

“How was I sup-” Slytherin started to say. It was an old argument already. How was he supposed to know that the basilisk would cause any trouble?

“He has aged terribly” noted Godric.

“The first time, dear.”

“Oh.”

“Dumbledore made him the groundskeeper” Ravenclaw went on, because she didn’t like leaving any detail unmentioned when they were discussing something. This had led to many puns about her unmentionables from both Slytherin and occasionally Helga.

Slytherin scoffed at the mention of Dumbledore.

“A half-measure, like all he ever did.”

“Dumbledore was a remarkable student, professor and headmaster” argued Godric instantly.

“That is in no way the same as good.” That was Ravenclaw. Slytherin could have said it, but of course Rowena Ravenclaw got there first because this was about _semantics_

“Yes, well.” Grumbled Godric Gryffindor “What about _your_ student? He was no good at all.”

There was some noise about how Slytherin’s students, overall, made way more trouble. The ones not attempting to take over the world went way overboard with fighting the rules at the school.

Slytherin rolled his eyes. “Riddle? He was complete idiot, I have no problem admitting it. An idiot. Yours, mine, they are all idiots. When was the last time we had anyone with an ounce of sense around here?”

The statues thought about this.

“I like that McGonagall girl” said Helga at last. There were some murmurs of agreement. Yes. Occasionally, the McGonagall girl exhibited some sense.

The firebirds were falling asleep, soothed by the warmth. Hagrid waved his pink umbrella again and heavy velvet curtains unrolled from the windows and arches, creating a safe and dark cocoon.

Slytherin whimpered with pleasure.

“He is mine!” warned Godric. “Look at how he is caring for the little monsters. That’s bravery right there.”

“Oh, come on. He has an illegal wand.”

“Which is risky to have. Courage!”

“Clever. The choice of colour alone. People just tend to trust pink things. That girl overdid it, but she wouldn’t have gotten as far without the pink.”

“He is full of admirable qualities” Rowena said as she looked at Hagrid down the length of her nose.

“It’s a pity the way he has been treated, really.” Helga moved her head sadly. There was so much injustice! “We are talking to him, aren’t we?”

“HEY YOU” bellowed Godric before anyone gave him a reason not to. A few of the firebirds shuffled and rose their heads.

“Come here, my man” said Salazar Slytherin in his lordy voice. This was the thing about Salazar. History believed him to be something of an aristocrat and he was always portrayed in a regal manner and with elegant clothes. Only his contemporaries, and in fact only his three friends would know that while he did all of that and put on airs and did the voice, it was all a joke. Salazar like to play the lordy lord but he never forgot that his father had been a pig farmer.

“Yes, you” added Godric, who had trouble with irony but laughed uproariously with Slytherin’s and Ravenclaw’s puns. “Hagrid, isn’t it? Ha, sounds like Godric. Good name, good name.”

Hagrid moved closer to the statues, as hesitant as a half-giant can be.

“Let’s see that wand of yours” said Slytherin extending one hand for the pink umbrella. Hagrid gave it to him and at the same time pushed back with his broad shoulders two firebirds that were peering curiously and considering whether or not the umbrella or the stone hand were edible.

The four statues examined the umbrella closely. They oohed and aaahed and Ravenclaw asked whether he noticed any changes in how it worked and Godric asked if anyone had ever noticed that it was a wand and also if he could bring one of the firebirds closer, he really wanted to pet one.

“Thank you” said Slytherin simply as he handed the umbrella back. Then the four statues went back to their usual positions and it was as if absolutely nothing had happened.

Hagrid had tragically missed lots of years of education and he spent most of his time on the grounds rather than inside the castle, so he really couldn’t say whether this was out of the ordinary or not. In any case he was more concerned with making the birds comfortable, the poor dears. Chained and forced to travel and then thrown into English weather, no wonder they had been so aggressive. They were really gentle. Half the time now they didn’t mean to set him on fire.

***

Since there was a flock of firebirds sleeping there, no one was going to stick their heads inside that inner cloister. Therefore, no one would know that the four statues that resided there, quiet and still, were missing.

They were all on the second floor, waiting for the stairs to appear so they could go one floor up to the Headmaster’s office. Naturally the office was password locked, but it opened for them without even asking for one.

The Headmaster was in his quarters, deep asleep in his boyfriend’s arms. Slytherin and Hufflepuff tiptoed to their room to see and came back giggling.

Those two. It was better when Slytherin’s shenanigans involved Gryffindor. There was more noise and usually fire but somehow it was better.

Ravenclaw was looking at the old tomes on the shelves, the ones with the names and dates of all of Hogwarts’ students. She found the right one and pointed at it with a long and thin index finger. She had very nice hands, Rowena Ravenclaw, and she knew it. Godric took it down for her and lay it on the desk. The tome was huge, tall and thick and very heavy. He blew on it to remove the dust and Rowena made a face of distaste when a few specks fell on her robe even though the robe, as the rest of her, was made of stone.

They opened it and paged through the tome until they found the right place.

“G… R… A… D” said Ravenclaw almost unconsciously while Gryffindor wrote. The man had once misspelled his own name, three times, on the same page, when they were laying the rules of the school. Most people didn’t notice, but even in the crest it said Gordic.

Only a Headmaster or Deputy Headmaster could write on the books that made Hogwarts’ archives. The book, however, accepted the words that came from that stone hand. _Rubeus Hagrid, honourably graduated from Hogwarts’ School of Magic_ and the current date. They even added some letter grades in Charms and Care of Magical Creatures based on the few words they had exchanged.

The four founders didn’t usually intervene in current events, but it felt good to fix a wrong.


	13. Suruchi Sudabar

“For Merl—” Suruchi Sudabar started to say, but it wasn’t enough. She finished the curse exclaiming “iiiiiyaaaaarg.”

“We have contact with Miss Granger” said her aid, rising from the fireplace. And that was another thing. She was getting phones installed in the Ministry. They entered the building through a bloody telephone box, they could have actual phones instead of kneeling on their fireplaces whenever they had to talk to someone.

She waited five seconds after she heard the click of her door shutting close before she spoke.

“Tell me that your _friend_ had nothing to do with this and is very far away.”

Suruchi had made something funny to the word “friend”, emphasising the “r” and the “n” so that it almost sounded as if she was saying “rascal” and “fiend” at the same time. To her grace, Granger didn’t even ask who this “friend” of hers was.

“Harry?” said Hermione calmly, just as Suruchi had taught her. Repeat the question to gain time and show that you know many people and are on a first-name basis with all of them.

Suruchi was not impressed with Hermione doing it now.

“Yessssss. Him. Tell me he has nothing to do with this because, Granger, I have explained to you and we can’t have this kind of shenanigans.”

She had explained, right after Hermione decided to study law: Kingsley Shacklebolt was to be Minister of Magic for the next eight to ten years. Ideally ten, even twelve, but she was planning for eight and calling it a success. Then they would get a nobody, traditionalist and conservative because people were going to push for one in any case. He would sit only four years, enough to prove that their politics of renovation were better. _Then_ it would be Suruchi’s turn. Minister of Magic, ten years. Would successfully see the process of lifting the Statute of Secrecy (it was going to happen, she had seen the month of panic when those pictures of _inferi_ came public. The muggles responsible weren’t even properly _obliviated_. It was unavoidable, better accept it). After her tenure, she would retire and Granger would take her place, again ten to twelve years, depending on the international climate.

Hermione had been a bit concerned when Suruchi told her all that. Especially when she mentioned that by then Hermione’s kids would be in Hogwarts. She had asked, slowly, if she had talked with Percy and Suruchi had smiled with satisfaction because that was a good question to ask.

However, none of this was going to happen, none of this “… if we keep having incidents like this. He will resign before the year is out, Granger. I need Shacklebolt strong and healthy for eight years, not eight months.”

She stopped. Even with the floo powder she could feel the smoke and ash of the fireplace drying her skin and hair. She mentally moved forward the telephone schedule so the project would begin that very same month.

“He is travelling” said Hermione blandly. More blessed words she couldn’t utter. “You know, he has been travelling a lot lately. Just the past weekend he was in Lincolnshire.”

“Travelling” Suruchi said, rolling her “r” as if it were something akin to murder.

“Draco is with him.”

Suruchi could kiss someone. Draco was the one who was trouble. Harry, blessed beautiful idiot, was like a natural disaster. He had devastating effects and he did things you wouldn’t even think possible, but there was something quite innocent about it. You wouldn’t think that a storm was malicious and neither was Harry.

There was nothing innocent about Draco, though. He _meant_ the things he did, he had a _purpose_. Usually a good one, but still.

“And where are they going?”

Did she imagine the tiny pause Hermione made?

“East Europe.”

“East Europe where?”

Please, god, don’t have Krum involved in this.

“Romania.”

She let a sigh of relief only to open her eyes and mouth right away as her brain supplied her with information about the country.

“What _is_ the matter in any case, Suruchi?” interrupted Hermione with affected nonchalance. “I, of course, only have the news reports. But it seems like no crime has been committed?”

Suruchi remembered that there was a lot they didn’t know about what have happened in the war against Voldemort. Maybe Hermione Granger lied better than what she thought.

“No.” Admitted Suruchi. No crime, no. Just six chains, wide as a man’s thigh and tens of metres long, six chains that were somehow _embedded_ in the building of Gringotts. In the front, the roof, the stairs to the door… Even if a giant had hurled the chains against the front, they would had fallen down, not remained inserted there. It spoke of unbelievable strength and fury, putting the chains there as if the building were made of butter.

This was the image that the good wizards and witches of Diagon Alley had awaken to that morning. Even for the wizarding world, even after the mad past years, this was an unusual sight.

“Has the bank suffered a break-in?” Hermione asked batting her lashes. “From what I can see in the pictures, the doors seem untouched.”

Yes. The doors of Gringotts were perfectly well and they were the one and only entrance to the bank. So, really, there was no reason to believe that there had been a bank robbery. If you also believed that goblins were honest about their dealings and that they wouldn’t hide such a thing to protect their reputation then this was nothing more than a peculiar protest for their outrageous interest rates or the commission on pounds conversion.

“Well if no crime had been committed and Harry is out of the country in any case, I don’t think there is much to worry.” Hermione went on. “Of course, this act of vandalism is regrettable but perhaps it is just a new safety feature. We should wait until a spokesperson of the bank gives a press relief.”

“Oh, you witch!” exclaimed Suruchi, unsure whether she should be irritated or amused.

Hermione laughed as she said her goodbyes and gave her regards to Kingsley.

All of Suruchi’s plans would come to fruition, but that didn’t mean that it wouldn’t be extremely difficult. The first year would be the hardest, though. At the end of it, she would sent a basket with bath and skin care products to her predecessor in the Junior Assistant to the Minister position because Percival’s logical and careful filling system had been a life saver.

 


	14. Another promise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one has music, but you don't have to listen to it. I think the music might work better in a second reading.

This, Harry thought, had been a wonderful idea. Of course Harry thought all of his ideas were great, but this one had an unexpected benefit he hadn’t planned for, which entered it in the “wonderful” classification.

He looked at Draco, his face flushed from the wind, his silky hair almost tangling (not possible though, Draco’s hair unknotted by itself). He looked at him and knew that in that moment Draco was happy. Not that Draco had been miserable. He had taken the death of his parents as well as was possible given the circumstances and he had had plenty of support. But there had been a feeling of being lost, Harry knew, of being your own master and not knowing what to do. He hadn’t been miserable but he hadn’t been as well as he could be.

Today, Draco didn’t look afraid of himself, afraid of life.

***

It had started with Harry standing by the dirty and rusty garage doors that were the back entrance to Gringotts. He stood there for over an hour, like a creep, listening to the musical descent of Orpheus to the Underworld. It had a lot of violins and was very nice.

When the moment was right, he stepped inside. It was dark by then and supposedly the security of the bank had increased as it always does when banks are closed for business. It didn’t matter for Harry who simply put a hand on the door and pushed it open. It opened for him as if there weren’t any other option, as if it were right and natural.

He walked down the tunnels and into the lowest levels accompanied by the playful notes of the strings. This was probably why the shadows casted by the few and far in between lights of the tunnels acted weird, jumping and dancing so that Harry would always be hidden by them. Unseen, like a naughty spirit or like the mischievous fairies of theatre, he crossed door after door and barrier after barrier until he got to the first dragon.

The dragon had a long chain. Long for Harry, but short for the dragon who could barely move around the room. There were deep scratches in a small area of the floor, the further point the dragon could reach.

The chain was strong and thick, as was the heavy collar that closed around the dragon’s neck. Harry noticed that the skin under the collar was rubbed raw from carrying that weight.

The other end of the chain was fastened to a big iron ring attached to a spike buried on the floor. It was obviously well protected with many reinforcing charms and spells, yet Harry had little trouble pulling the ring and the spike out. They were heavy and he grunted with effort, but it shouldn’t had been that easy.

Also, the dragon was supposed to eat and/or burn Harry since he was an intruder. But all Harry got was a thorough sniff while he pulled the spike out. Not only the dragon didn’t do as he had been trained to do, but it followed Harry docilely dragging the chain and the ring and the spike behind. The playful violins were still echoing on Harry’s ears and the dragon seemed to be walking on tiptoes so it would go unnoticed.

He repeated the process five times and by the end there was no _way_ Harry and the six dragons could make the climb back undetected. Even if the seven of them were crouching and walking on tiptoes, even if the shadows were bending to offer them cover, and even if there was an improbable number of funny shaped rocks offering them shelter. They should had been spotted.

And yet.

The piece was called “[Infernal Gallop](https://youtu.be/okQRnHvw3is?t=54)” and there was something horse like in the way the dragons were moving. Not a gallop, though. More like a happy trot. The visual representation of going “cloppity-clop”. That, exactly, is how they got out of Gringotts. Seven dragons and a young man cloppity-clopping their way out.

Draco was waiting for them outside, holding two backpacks and their brooms. He kissed Harry softly on the lips and helped him open the collars. The dragons whined as some scabs opened and bled which had a lot to do with how and why the chains were found in the morning.

They didn’t ride on top of the dragons, although they would have allowed it. However, they were half-blind and scared from anything resembling fire so they couldn’t see where to go nor did they want to follow any magic lights marking the way. Instead, Harry and Draco flew next to them in their brooms, guiding and herding them through the dense grey of the English night. Harry was Harry so they were happy to follow him, and Draco had hair that seemed made of silver thread and gold accents so they were all quite happy to go with him too no questions asked.

It wasn’t unlike that other night in which they flew side by side. By the time Diagon Alley woke to the unusual sight of Gringotts, their party was deep in France.

It was at this point that Harry looked back on his broom to see Draco rumpled and happy, truly happy, and he felt happy too. And the dragons, who were spreading their wings and flying like nature wanted them to do for the first time in years, _they_ were happy. Harry laughed and let his broom sway free so he could fly making an eight pattern around the dragon formation. There was an exhilarating feeling going around and Harry could hear some [metal instruments](https://youtu.be/EK_LN3XEcnw?t=7) in the background that seemed to accompany the flap of the leather wings.

Draco came to him, flying in a mirror pattern. They flew interlacing between the dragons, meeting for a second and going away, much like in a dance. It was beautiful and it was fun.

“That one is called Angela” said Harry pointing at a green and black behemoth. “Pamela” he added as he went by the side of a purple dragon full of spikes.

They all got names, regardless of actual sex, size, and number of fangs and spikes. They had been called things like “Dragon number 6” or “Hebridean Black specimen” or “the one guarding the access to the Z line of vaults”. Now they were called Angela, Pamela, Sandra, Rita, Monica and Erica. They seemed to be pleased with the notion of having names and Rita, who already was proving to be the most spirited, let out a long flame and a roar.

Draco made them land on a grass field near a wide river so they could drink and take a rest. Less than fifteen minutes later the first people arrived: Two muggles from a car taking pictures and smiling like one would do when seeing half a dozen dragons, and a few local wizards who were too surprised to remember to _obliviate_ the muggles before they left.

Draco went to talk to the wizards while Harry checked on the dragons, cleaned their wounds and directed them to a nice spot to rest. Crossing the aerial space of a country with six dragons without first asking for permission was all kinds of illegal and might be interpreted as an invasion. The local wizards were quite understandably staring at the dragons with suspicion, although they were a bit assuaged by the fact that Harry was in plain view scratching the chin of the biggest one (Angela). It didn’t look particularly invasive. Her right hind leg was sliding from the pleasure.

In any case, it was Draco talking to them. Draco who was cursed with the wild emotions and dramatic tendencies of the Blacks and the Malfoys, but also blessed with their charm. When a Black talked to you, you fell a little bit in love with them. When a Malfoy spoke, it always sounded like a command given by a king and even the most ardent republicans would find themselves jumping to obey unquestioningly.

Draco started by complimenting the view and the well preserved state of ther rivers and castles which made everyone straighten with national pride. He quickly added that the state of the roads left a lot to be desired, and some of the roundabouts were unnecessary placed, and everybody forgot any questions they had about dragons to take turns over who was to blame and apologize profusely to the beautiful fae prince they had before them.

They spent the morning there, sleeping under a tree. Nobody from the Bureau de la Magie came to complain. Draco was gifted with three different cheeses and he was told that while he was welcome to visit, they would all feel better if they could take their dragons and leave soon. Somehow, Harry got to try some strawberries and he made Draco ask where they could get more on their return trip. Sirius had tasked him with baking the cake for his parents’ wedding and the strawberries were very sweet.

That night they slept somewhere in the border between Austria and Hungary. They were outside and didn’t have a tent, but the heat from the dragons was enough, plus they had each other.

They arrived to the mountains and the dragon sanctuary in Romania late in the evening of the next day. Charlie was waiting for them, wavering between happiness at seeing them and red hot rage at the state of the dragons.

***

Both Harry and Draco were forbidden from ever setting foot on Gringotts again. Their accounts were respected because the goblins were very considerate with their business, but they were not allowed in the building, not even to ask something of the teller. They had to nominate someone (Ron) to handle their relationship with the bank.

They didn’t mind it much.

And, in an unexpected turn of events, no effort was made to substitute the lost dragons with new ones. It should had been the bank’s priority right after vehemently denying that anything whatsoever had happened there or that they had lost their dragon protection. However, quite mysteriously, they decided to go on with magical wards and forget about dragons.

Rumour said that there had been an ugly and tension-charged meeting away from Ministerial intervention. And that in that meeting, Harry had easily agreed to his life ban from the bank but he had also given them a green stare that made them realize the tiny terror he really was and that having no dragons was more than a fair prize for having him far away.

Every single Christmas they got a postcard from the dragon sanctuary. They alternated between beautiful pictures of dragons flying against a sunset and goofy photos of the reservation workers. Draco liked the one in which they attempted to build a human Christmas tree.

 


	15. Molly

Molly Weasley (née Preweet) was that kind of traditional woman who would dote on her daughter’s husband but would be a complete nightmare to her daughters-in-law because absolutely no woman was good enough for her baby boys. This is not a rare occurrence and Molly herself had had to fight against the extraordinary force of nature that was Matilda Weasley.

Molly Weasley would find herself, however, unable to follow this tradition. Her firstborn married a very beautiful witch, too beautiful, perhaps. A witch who gave the impression of being vain, because surely she must spend a lot of time caring for her hair to have it that way; and she was foreign and she complained a lot and she just looked very shallow and was kind of asking to be hated.

And she killed Fenrir Greyback and fought Voldemort’s curses and had the general attitude of “acts of God” that insurance companies refuse to pay for. Fleur Delacour was marring Bill Weasley and keeping her surname and if Molly had a problem with it she could meet her behind the barn and they would fix it, no wands, street rules.

Charlie refused to even date anyone, no matter how much Molly pestered him about it. On the few occasions he was in the country with them, he retaliated by giving extensive and detailed speeches about dragons. Molly had to admit defeat and drop the topic long before Fleur, in her usual insolence, started to talk during the family meals about asexuality and bisexuality and a lot of concepts that were new to Molly and made her quite uncomfortable to think about, frankly.

Arthur was equally embarrassed. They were both from a generation in which one did not speak about those things and the idea of boys kissing boys and girls rooming with girls was risqué enough. But that night Arthur kissed Molly’s hand and said “annoying she may be, but she might be right with what she said, don’t you think? A girl that pretty, she would know.” Molly would never admit it to Fleur for the reasons already stated, but hearing about it helped her understand her children better. For some reason it did seem like Fleur would know a lot about what people liked.

Then there was Percy. Percy had gone and gotten himself a young man and Molly felt very uncertain because, again, she was supposed to despise whoever her son chose but on the other hand she also had to like the son in law. Oliver Wood was a fine young man who had the sun in his smile and so she didn’t know what to do.

Fred and George had gone and paired themselves with Angelina Johnson and Hermione Granger and the first one exuded no-nonsense from her pores and, frankly, Molly knew what she had at home. If a girl was willing to take any of the twins she had to be grateful because those kids were a terror. So Angelina got a pass and Hermione… Molly thought that she still hadn’t forgiven her for that year that Molly trusted Rita Skeeter a bit too much and sent her a tiny chocolate egg full of spite. When she was with George, Hermione smiled a lot, and laughed a lot, and looked very happy, but still there was something about her, as if the girl were hiding a mountain inside her chest. Better not to push.

So, no, Molly Weasley didn’t have it easy with her daughters in law. There was no way they could be properly hated.

Then Ron came one day and formally introduced them all to the girl, Harry’s friend, Olivia.

A muggle.

And of course Molly had nothing against muggles but the opportunity just set itself for condescension. “No, dear, let me, I will do it. It’s just better with magic” or “Won’t Olive” (cause you can’t never, ever, say their names right) “Won’t Olive be bored? I am not sure that muggles enjoy that” and “just let me know if you need any help, dear.” Because that was the point, _you are not good enough, girl_. Not good enough for my boy.

Until Olivia managed to get alone with Molly in her kitchen.

“Look, Molly” she said, and there was something a bit insolent in how she said her name. No Mrs. Weasley, but Molly. “I know you are, like, contractually obligated to hate on the girlfriends. I know it, I get it. But I want you to know that it’s not going to work with me. Hate on Fleur if you must, she likes antagonizing you.”

Molly admired her having the courage to mention it openly, but of course she didn’t admit to anything. Instead she said that she had no idea what she was talking about and that Olivia might be a tad touchy, wasn’t she?. All this was terribly passive aggressive, just like her mother and mother in law had taught her to be. And it must be said that Molly was nothing compared to the sulfuric terror that Augusta Longbottom had been to Alice for the brief period in which she was married to Frank and before she, well, she lost her mind.

(Funnily enough, Constanza Malfoy had never been as cruel to Narcissa as her own mother, Druella Black, had been. By all accounts Constanza had been interested in music and nothing else. She didn’t even make a good job of teaching Lucius Italian).

“Of course, of course” said Olivia infuriatingly calm. “I know you have to say this. But, listen, Molly, listen. I have a _Mother_ too and she doesn’t look at the wizarding world too kindly. If I ever again come back home feeling down for something you did or said, or, Heavens forbid, if you ever make me go home crying: she will kill you.” Olivia made a small gesture with her shoulder, not even a full shrug. “She has done it before, during the war. Mulcier and Rosifer, or something like that. So she knows how to hide a body.”

Not even the muggle daughter in law could be properly harassed. Although Molly found that she didn’t mind it much. Ron seemed very happy with her, very calm, and Molly had spent a year worrying about him and what killing Voldemort might mean for her youngest boy. She was afraid he might go funny in the head. Olivia was good for him so she got a pass.

Now, if Ginny finally decided to give a chance to that Parkinson girl, maybe Molly could hate her.


	16. Pansy

Pansy Parkinson did not manage to get inside Ginny Weasley’s pants, a tragedy only lessened by the fact that neither did Blaise Zabini, so at least Pansy hadn’t lost to him which would be unbearable. It was also ameliorated by the fact that, well, she found someone else.

Look, Pansy had noticed that they were spending quite a lot of time together so it made sense to befriend the girl either to get important intel on Ginny’s habits and preferences and/or to make her jealous. She had not been planning on actually _dating_ the girl, not unless she absolutely had to in order to get Ginny’s attention.

But she had really nice hair. And her eyes and her smile, everything about her was so gentle! Pansy liked gentle. She was angry at everything and she did not plan to stop being angry because she saw that her fury gave her power and strength. But it was nice to be able to sit next to someone who seemed so calm yet willing to fight. Her gentleness was different from the fake pleasantry of Pansy’s family and the old traditional wizards that would say you were the one with the problem, you were the one disrupting the peace, we were all having a nice time and being happy and you had to come and ruin it, Pansy.

No, we were not all happy. You were. It was good for you, not me.

It was not like that with her. She was the real deal, the real happiness and gentleness and serenity. She saw the bad things of the world and didn’t ignore them or tried to convince you that it wasn’t that bad. She saw and she fought back. But she also thought that from time to time one ought to stop and go look at the stars or pet the threstals or read a poem.

And Pansy was scared. Terribly scared. It would had been better if she kept chasing Ginny because she was sure that with Ginny she would not experience this fear. With Ginny, Pansy would still have her armour intact.

Pansy had lost her heart, lost it completely to that strange girl, and how can you protect your heart and your life when it is not on your chest anymore? It made Pansy vulnerable and it was terrible because being a Sytherin was all about not showing your weaknesses and Pansy was sure hers was quite obviously showing on her face every single minute of her life and doubly so when she was anywhere near her girl.

The good thing, though, the only thing that made this even slightly bearable, was that the girl liked Pansy back. She, yes, listen, _she liked her back_. She took her hand and told her impossible things and Pansy just sighed and resigned herself to the fact that if anyone made fun of Luna Lovegood ever again she would just have to murder them and go on the run. She was confident that Luna would come looking for her and they could be criminals wanted on seven countries.

For now, Luna was happy with her animals and her vet clinic. She had a fifteen minutes segment in Lee’s program where she gave care advice. All the glaring Pansy did these days was directed to the Aurors who didn’t follow the prescribed treatment.

(How had she ended as the mediwizard assigned to the Auror department? What happened? She had no idea of what happened.)


	17. Percy again

Percy had slowly accepted that he had to put on clothes in order to not  catch a cold, and he almost always left the house fully dressed now. Going back to work was another thing. He didn’t want to. He just didn’t. He couldn’t stand the idea of being back in an office, reading and writing memos. He said he had some savings and he could always find an old rich gentleman and be his kept boy. Oliver was actually two months younger than him but he was happy to fill the role and keep Percy forever.

Percy was… very tired. He felt like he hadn’t had a moment of rest since before he went to Hogwarts. At first because he had been studying hard, desperately trying to raise from the poverty of his family. Then, because he was even more desperately trying to keep that family alive. He was very tired and fortunately he had a boyfriend who understood. Oliver had had a very stressful year full of lies and being responsible for people’s lives, so he was able to sympathize and didn’t begrudge Percy if he preferred to stay at home lounging under the sun, reading, and doing yoga.

He was doing well, except for how sometimes Percy couldn’t remember if someone was alive or not and he went to ask Oliver with wide eyes and a broken mouth. Every time it felt to Oliver as if he were being stabbed in the chest because Percy really didn’t know and he looked so horribly distraught. A couple of times mere words hadn’t been enough and he had had to take him to see that person and let Percy reassure himself with his own eyes that they were not dead. Oliver hated in particular the times he took him to see Luna Lovegood and Lee Jordan. Perhaps because how full of light each of them was when they invited them in, how welcoming and warm.

With time, it got better. Percy would say something like “Lavender Brown is alive, isn’t she?” and Oliver would say yes, she was, and that would be enough.

The number of visions decreased. Percy still got ten times more visions than the average seer, but it was something manageable. He hoped that they would stop altogether as he grew older, because it would still be terrible to foresee the deaths of all those people he had worked so hard to save even if it happened when they were all past one hundred years of age. At least the visions he was getting nowadays were more fun. No death and hardly any physical damage.

But he hadn’t gotten his cake

***

There weren’t that many weddings after the war. Percy went to all of them and was always disappointed. He had had very high hopes for Bill’s and Fleur’s wedding. The cake vision had come close to their horcrux vision so it was logical to link them together. But dessert came and they served red velvet which was very nice, very moist, but not what Percy was expecting.

“This is not what I expected” he told Bill who was looking radiant even with the scars. He looked so happy that he was almost prettier than his wife. “Chocolate. There was to be chocolate.”

“People who lie to their older brothers don’t get to choose dessert” Bill replied airily because the Weasley siblings took their grudges and nurtured them.

Percy narrowed his eyes. “I deserve a better cake” he said, putting his plate down. Fred immediately darted a hand to grab the cake for himself because second helpings were rare in the Weasley household. “I deserve the very best cake, and that cake has chocolate.”

“Oh? Well Percy, I didn’t know. If only _you had spoken to me_.”

That again! There was no bitterness to it, but that again!

“You want me to speak more, William? I can do that! I could, for example, tell Mum about how a certain horcrux in Bellatrix Lestrange’s possession was destroyed. Something about fire, wasn’t it?”

Bill paled and got up quickly which only made Percy go faster towards their mother’s seat, which in turn led to Bill jumping over the table and tackling Percy to the floor. Victor and Cedric cheered and took it as an invitation to tackle redheads to the floor.

Molly didn’t learn about it from Percy because Percy and Bill got distracted and went outside to shoot fireworks with the twins. She did learn about it though. Harry spilled the beans in a desperate move when she heard about a certain killing curse that left a big scar on his chest when he was fourteen.

“Okay, but why is it so important?” Oliver would ask him later, when they were both back at home and in bed but too riled up to fall asleep.

Percy sighed. He had had a wonderful day. That moment when Cedric and Krum danced on top of a table had been great. But there was still that feeling of missing something, small but very bothersome.

“It’s just… I,” he stopped to think about it. It wasn’t easy to say. The room was dark and Oliver was kissing the freckles of his shoulders so it was slightly easier than at any other time. “I saw, I saw so much Oliver. For so long. And this, this vision, it was just for me and it was _good_. It is not just the cake, or the smell, it’s the feeling in it of being, being, being all right, I guess. Being without worry. I saw it and I knew there would be a time when I wouldn’t have to worry about anything and during the last few weeks of the war, and those three days, it’s what gave me strength. I mean, the horror I saw gave me a lot of energy to work, but this is what stopped me from going mad.”

He shut up suddenly. He felt like he hadn’t made any sense and like he was going to babble all night. While he spoke, Oliver had made a trail of kisses from his shoulder down to his bellybutton and he was resting his head on his stomach now.

“I get it” Oliver said, dropping another kiss, and Percy felt a wave of relief go through all the muscles of his body because he meant it. Percy could tell that he meant it. Nobody would ever truly know what his life had been like these past years, but Oliver got very close to understanding it.

He was also now sitting astride over him and taking both of Percy’s hands and interlacing their fingers.

“Okay. Let’s do something about it. It’s at a wedding, right?”

Percy nodded.

“And the cake has chocolate.”

“Three” Percy lifted his hand but didn’t let go of Oliver’s. “Three different kinds of chocolates put together in moist heaven.”

“Do you know who bakes it?”

Percy said no with his head. Oliver’s forehead creased, like it always did when he was thinking deep about tactics.

“We make a list of restaurants and bakeries and start hitting all of them in search for that cake. I think I have gotten a good idea of what we are looking for so we can go separately to cover more terrain. Once we have found it and if by then none of these idiots have served it already at their wedding, then we get married and have it in ours.”

It took Percy two whole seconds to understand what Oliver was saying, but in his defence Oliver made him very stupid. He just couldn’t think as usual when he was near that face and surrounded by that smell.

(Because the wonderful smell was Oliver, he had known that for a while).

He let go of Oliver’s hands so he could grab his back and shoulders as they kissed, hard, fast, and laughing a bit because this was all ridiculous and also very important. Percy felt his legs spreading open almost automatically.

The moment Percy saw on his vision was wonderful and he did well in chasing it, but when he clenched down on Oliver, when he felt the heat of his orgasm coming up and Oliver surrounding him and inside him, he thought that that moment was very nice too. Very nice.

***

Their cake wasn’t baked by any known restaurant or bakery. It took them months to discover that it was going to be Harry. Harry had also made the cake on his parent’s weddings and according to Percy it was the only one who got close to that feeling of biting down on a cloud.

Percy explained. Harry said that it was a huge improvement over the last prophecy made about him and was happy to bake their cake. At their wedding, Arthur cried and was only able to mumble that he was very proud and Ron had to take over his duties and give the speech. It rained a lot, ruining clothes and decorations. Aunt Muriel was a terror. There was a small accident when someone tried to set the fireworks inside (unrelated to Muriel’s behaviour). Oliver’s team behaved like animals and they weren’t even drunk.

It was still one of the best days in Percy’s life.


	18. Be my guest

Many people visited the “Be my guest” café drawn by the popularity of its owner and the possibility of getting a closer look. They were bound to be disappointed at best and truly bewildered at worst.

To start with, the owner spent more time in the kitchen than working with the clients so it was entirely possible to go there and not see him at all. This hardly bothered the most persistent of the inquisitive crowd who were sure that they were more special that the others and should therefore get a meeting in person. It was them who, due to their insistence, faced a modern development of the Two Soldiers Riddle.

It is a well known old riddle. Two soldiers guarding two doors, one leads to freedom and the other to certain death. One of the soldiers always lies and the other always says the truth. Your life and freedom may depend on figuring out who does what with a single question so you can escape from that absurd place.

If you went to the café in the morning you might find that the person taking your order and bringing it to you was a house elf with the name of Dobby who was always happy to talk about the owner and answer any sort of nosy questions. He would tell you that HarryPotter (one word) could bring old dry trees back to life, that the flowers that decorated the tables had simply sprung from their vases that morning, that birds came to his windowsill to tell him the weather, that he was so good and pure that he could withstand the stare of a Basilisk.

In the evenings, however, you would most likely find a different house-elf working there. One that answered to the name of Kreacher, although only if he felt like it. He would take your order and bring it to you and wouldn’t talk much, but if he overheard any mention of Harry Potter (two words) he would inform you that he was monstrously rude and uneducated, that he hadn’t worn paired socks a single day of his life, that he still needed someone to buy him clothes and set his attire for him the previous night, that he was so debauched that he took pleasure in breaking social rules, that he would often walk around the house in a state of disarray and half undressed.

If asked, the manager, Mirpy, would say that it was all true except the Basilisk story.

***

Percy was a regular at the café, coming almost daily. He had his own spot at Harry’s café that no one was allowed to use, not even when Percy wasn’t there. Although that may have to do with the fact that Percy was still prone to the occasional bout of nudism. Harry didn’t seem to mind or even notice and people wondered how bad his eyesight really was.

For his part, Percy spent his hours there reading and trying new muggle things. Sometimes he brought a new song for Harry to listen and see if he made some food with it. There had been one winter day when listening to Aretha Franklin produced a hot soup with a spicy tang that was like nothing else.

Another unforeseen (ha!) consequence of Percy developing seer powers was that people were now paying quite a lot of attention to him, which was very awkward and upsetting. He didn’t want that yet they now observed each and everyone on his movements convinced that he must be using his powers to earn money. Percy couldn’t bet on anything without everyone going crazy, nor could he comment on sports (he said that Oliver was the expert and refused to add anything else). He still managed to create a short lived panic and economic upheaval when he was spotted going home with two crates of mangos. This was taken to mean that the apocalypse was coming and mangos would be the new currency and/or only method to fight the sandworms that were coming to eat everyone.

All the mangos were bought, all, and when they were gone in less than two hours people moved to other tropical fruits. There was an unprecedented quick exchange of galleons into pounds in Gringotts so they could go to muggle stores and pick up the few remaining mangos there.

At four in the afternoon that day Ronald Weasley stepped out to make an official declaration. Since he had killed lord Voldemort people tended to listen to him.

“He just likes mangos” he said. “I think he wants to try to make jam with them.”

So Percy had to be very careful with all he did. Since Harry also drew a lot of unwanted attention it made sense to fight it together, or at least suffer it together.

Occasionally, when people got too nosy and impertinent with either Harry or himself, Percy would play with them a little bit. His favourite trick was staring at them in the eyes and saying “Oh, I would give you a piece of my mind sir/madam, but I see that you will soon have enough trouble. I don’t need to add to it.” This, of course, sent people into panic, convinced that they had hours or at best days to live.

Rita Skeeter was immune to it, though. She would probably love the idea of writing her own obituary, so she still pestered Percy. Less so if Harry was around (although she still tried to get a quote about the Gringotts not-really-a-break-in) and none at all if either Hermione or Olivia were there. The best deterrent against her sharp quill, however, were the house-elves. They both insisted in talking to her and being quoted, often at the same time, and their speech was so contradictory that Rita’s Quick-Quote quill had burned twice.

***

It was a nice café. It had hot and cold drinks, sandwiches and baked goods. If it was cold, there would be soup of whatever Harry had brought from the market that day, assuming Harry had arrived at all and hadn’t gotten distracted with something or gone with Draco in an impromptu material-gathering trip. In the summer, there was ice-cream and it was excellent.

And on a certain day in December, certain people, not everyone but a long list of certain people, could come and get a cup of ice-cream for free.

The best thing about this place was that Harry had someone to handle the finances (Ron) and someone to handle the clients (the elves), so all he had to do was put on music, bake something, and live happily.


	19. Minerva and a little girl

Once you reach a certain age, there are some things expected from you. Mostly you are expected to stop. Stop doing things. Stop travelling. Stop trying new things. Stop buying new clothes. You are old and don’t have much time left, even if you can be expected to still live some good twenty years. You are old, so just stop.

Minerva was an old woman. She was, therefore, expected by society to stop doing things like going to the beach in the summer and drinking a bottle of beer. She should stay home and tend the garden. Maybe sew or crotchet.

She didn’t do any of that. In fact, Minerva found herself going to buy a new dress only to change her mind midway and getting a blouse with a huge ribbon on the neck and a pair of green trousers. She also went to the hairdresser. She even painted her nails in a nice and soft shade of pink.

She wanted to look good and she did. She smiled at the camera as if she were holding the sun and the moon in her arms, but it was just her goddaughter Eleanor Minerva Weasley, age two months.  

***

“What’s this?” asked Eleanor, age four, as she walked with her godmother through the grounds of Hogwarts. It was Minerva’s birthday and her goddaughter had been brought to Hogwarts by her parents to present Minerva with a hand crafted birthday card. It had sequins and pink feathers. Soon there would be tea and cake, once everybody was ready, but in the meantime Eleanor wanted to explore and Minerva went with her.

During the exploration Eleanor had filled the left pocket of her dress with chestnuts. The right was reserved for two coins and a half eaten chocolate frog. She was asking Minerva her question from the top of Dumbledore’s grave, which she had climbed surprisingly quickly.

“It is a grave, or a tomb” explained Minerva. She extended her hand and Eleanor took it while she walked the length of the tomb as children do whenever they see something slightly elevated.

“Who is here?” asked the girl. She was still too young to understand death and so she was mostly unconcerned by it.

“A fool man.” Said Minerva while Eleanor jumped down. “He wanted to do good things but he didn’t always know how.”

The girl nodded. She touched a corner of the big white block of granite where a chunk was missing. This was the extent that the grave could hold her interest. Having climbed it up and down she now went to explore some more.

“What’s this?” she asked, pointing at the dark grey slab on the grass. Her left hand was closed around something and Minerva made a note of learning what it was. Eleanor was a grabber and a hoarder.

“This is the grave of a student who was very stupid and very lost and very wrong” Minerva answered. A lone thestral had come closer and was sniffing curiously at Eleanor’s head, making her curls dance. She had inherited her mother’s dark and curly hair and her skin was a bit more tan than the usual milky white of the Weasleys. She had the freckles, though, and they made her absolutely and unbearably adorable.

Minerva didn’t think this just because the girl was her goddaughter, no. She was, objectively, extremely cute.

Eleanor took a chestnut out of her pocket and balanced it on top of the gravestone. Then she sneezed so Minerva took her hand to lead her back to the sun.

“What’s this?” she asked once more. She had asked the same question fifteen times since they left Ernie’s grave. The Whomping Willow had merited seven minutes of close examination and a chestnut had been sacrificed so Eleanor could see the branches batting it away.

She was now putting her little hands on the handle of a sword and trying to pull herself up, like a gymnast. Just a sword, its blade half way buried on the ground.

“Oh, this is a very special place. This is the place where a very bad wizard was killed.”

Eleanor looked attentively at Minerva and back at the sword, wondering if perhaps she shouldn’t climb it then.

“He was a very bad man who wanted to hurt many people. So a young man took this sword and killed him. Now we have the sword here so everybody knows that if they are bad and want to hurt people, they will be stopped.”

Eleanor listened to all this pleasantly. Children have a very particular sense of justice and it all sounded good to her. They also like hearing that they are safe.

“Do you know who that brave man was?”

She shook her head no.

“Well, Eleanor, it was your dad. He stopped a very bad wizard.”

The girl nodded in satisfaction but not particularly impressed by the feat. She was four. Of course her dad would kill a bad wizard if necessary. Her dad could make fart noises with his armpit. She firmly believed that he could do just about anything.

“Was he bad because he didn’t eat his vegetables?” she asked because being four she lacked a lot of life references.

“That and other things” said Minerva diplomatically.

“But he is dead.”

“Yes.”

They walked back to the main entrance where the others had congregated. They would be going to Hogsmeade for tea and cake because the spells around the castle messed a lot with Olivia and gave her terrible headaches. Eleanor started to run when she saw her mom. She uncaringly went through Nearly Headless Nick, who was talking to Olivia, to hug her mother’s legs.

“Did you have fun on your walk?” Olivia dropped a hand on Eleanor’s head, the other casually resting over her stomach.

“I found chestnuts and a pretty button. It’s blue.” So that was what she had been holding. “There is an angry tree.”


	20. Draco

It was as if people didn’t want to learn nor listen. Or maybe they just liked so much their idea of how the world ought to work that they clung to it hoping that reality would bend to their wishes. Probably a combination of both.

You can’t just say to a Slytherin not to do something. You can’t just tell them there are rules and hope they will respect them. Even if they didn’t have a previous interest, the moment those words are uttered (or read) they will automatically begin to look into it and figure out how it can be done. They really like puzzles, the Slytherins, and tax evasion, but it is born of a mostly innocent wish to understand how things work.

 _Wands are for wizards and witches only_ , the Ministry had said, because if you want to push a radical agenda on one side, you have to let some things stay as always on the other.

 _Understanding by wizards and witches any human with magical abilities regardless of their parentage_. The rule went on.

Which had Hermione all over it, although _she_ would have also defined the term “human” so that half-bloods like Hagrid and professor Flitwick wouldn’t be excluded. Perhaps it only had Hermione’s influence then.

In any case, Draco had been told that he couldn’t just make wands for _anyone_. Naturally, he had taken this as a challenge.

Really, what else were they expecting?

In 1784 the British government passed a law to levy taxes on men’s hats. Seeing as at the time this was a required accessory for everyone and that rich people had multiple models, they reasoned that the wealthy would pay more and it would all be very clever and fair. Not being fond of paying taxes, both manufacturers and clients stopped using hats and instead began selling and buying headgear, accessories for the head, fashion statements worn on top of one self, and any other creative name for what was still a hat. By 1811 the tax had been repealed.

Draco could easily name six other similar examples. Draco liked history, and puzzles, like all Slytherins do.

Draco wasn’t making wands they were _portable personal enhancers of magic_ , and he sold them to anyone who could pay the prize (which could grow to be quite costly in certain models). To be fair, many of his creations didn’t really fit the traditional definition of a wand. Hermione’s needle had given him ideas and most of his goblin clientele was getting wands with metals and powdered minerals on them, so technically they didn’t qualify as wands. Go ahead and check the law, it mentioned wood an awful lot.

After the war there had been many people who didn’t have a wand. Some tried to get their old wands back and a few succeeded. Most found that their wands had been broken or lost and resigned themselves to going to _Ollivander’s_ and getting a new one. But not all of them, and not immediately because it just felt wrong and unfair and thinking of it made their eyes burn. They shouldn’t have to go and pay for a new wand because they shouldn’t have had their old one taken in the first place.

So they made do with the war wands, wands that had been won in a duel or borrowed from a generous friend or relative, wands inherited from a murdered mate. When it became obvious that they had to get a new one, they gravitated to Draco’s workshop.

(He insisted it was an atelier).

A small and unremarkable store in one of those towns that had enough muggle and wizarding population that it couldn’t be called either of them. Not muggle, not wizarding, and close enough to Glastonbury that all the wizards blended seamlessly.

(It was also mere blocks away from a certain café and the apartment above where he and Harry had made their home for the week. Weekends they still spent in Spinner’s End).

His work was so different from _Ollivander’s_ that they didn’t really compete. At _Ollivander’s_ you went in, got measured, tried a few wands and once one of them chose you, you paid and left with it.

Draco required an interview to know what kind of magic you would be doing and what kind of materials suited you best. Then and only then he would make a wand, just for you. For an extra, you could choose the decoration of the handle or have some words engraved.

He had made one with African blackwood and a bit of bitumen in the core to hold the unicorn hair for Severus. It worked exceptionally well with the charms occasionally needed in potions. The handle had a lion’s head carved in it and when Sirius saw it, he whimpered in delight.


	21. A radio show

“This is _The Eleven Hour_ here at the WWN” said the voice of the host, carefully modulated to sound nice while being completely absent of significant emotions. “I am David Wadia, and we are having a special program to commemorate the fifth anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts.”

In the background the last notes of a song by Celestina Warbeck faded away.

“I have with me Caecilius Frenzen, from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.”

“Good afternoon” said Caecilius, happy to be the first name mentioned.

“Mr. Frenzen has served in the Ministry for close to twenty years and can provide us with a unique historical perspective of the changes our world has experienced.”

Someone harrumphed in the most dismissive way possible. It was followed by someone else’s snort at this obvious disagreement with the host’s introduction.

“Also from the Ministry, in particular the Auror Office, Miss Nymphadora Tonks accompanies us today.”

“Wotcher! Also, call me Tonks.”

“We have two representatives of Hogwarts. Mr. Tiberius Angustifolia, president of the Board of Governors for the last six years after Mr. Sweepington passed away.”

“Yes, hello” came the voice of Tiberius Angustifolia. His voice was exactly like one would expect of someone with such a name. He spoke slowly, as if he still couldn’t believe that the current president of the Board was him. Sweepington had held the position for over thirty years and Lucius Malfoy had been ready to take over it, had been the de facto president for the last eight years of Sweepington’s tenure in fact. Tiberius wasn’t sure how he had gotten where he was now. Sure, Malfoy’s death had something to do with it, but even then he wasn’t sure.

“and we also count with one of Hogwarts professors” the host continued with perhaps a note of excitement in his voice. His guests so far weren’t all that exciting, but the mention of a teacher from Hogwarts ought to catch the listeners’ attention. No one expected the Headmistress or previous Headmaster to come, just as no one expected the Minister to come no matter how much the WWN begged. But a teacher could be interesting, especially if it was _the_ DADA teacher as one could very well hope.

“… Mr. Theodore Nott, lecturer of History of Magic.”

“Hello David” Nott said quickly, perhaps relishing the surprise and disappointment many would be experiencing now. “And may I say what a pleasure it is to be here.”

“Ah, pleasure, to have you with us” David Wadia said quickly. The public couldn’t see the smug smile on Nott’s face, sitting perfectly straight on his chair and looking at the rest of the assembled as a snake would look while deciding which mouse to eat first.

“Finally, to talk about the war efforts that culminated in the battle of Hogwarts, Mr Lee Jordan”

“Hellooo everyone.”

“… and Mr Victor Krum.”

“A good afternoon for all.” Victor’s voice was very deep, like a cave and his accent was dense and solid. Listening to him was the equivalent to spreading still cold butter over bread.

“Both of them helped organize efforts to aid the muggleborn population. Additionally, Mr. Jordan was present during the battle.”

“I had a hammer! Lost my wand, but a hammer was good.”

“… as was Miss Tonks” David said a bit annoyed already.

“I hear that Lee’s hammer is impressive” said Tonks in a nicely manufactured innocent tone. There was a deep “He!” from Krum and a hissing laugh from Nott.

David Wadia put his notes together and closed his eyes briefly because you can’t take a deep breath over the radio, people would hear it.

Kingsley, Snape, Potter and Malfoy. Those were the names he wanted to have at his table. And, if he was going to get a note of oddity, a Weasley. Instead he got this second and third runners with none of the attraction but the same or perhaps more potential for trouble.

At least the show wouldn’t be so weird as when they invited the Lovegood girl.

***

“… become a bawdy house!!” yelled Tiberius Angustifolia who today was finding there were new heights for his indignation and that every single person in that room was depraved. “No better than that! There _must_ be rules, and they _must_ be respected, or we will descend into the deepest and foulest vices.”

“We are talking about Hogwarts” reminded David softly “and the changes in the school.”

“Rotten!” exclaimed Angustifolia. He was mostly upset about the open house policy, but Nott’s admission that he often made his students sit on one of Binn’s lectures and then write a paper refuting him had certainly contributed to his anger.

“I don’t know” Lee interjected chirpily. Here was a man who wasn’t shy before the mic. “It’s not as if rules were being reverently respected before the riots. My letter of acceptance, and I am talking here merely as a former Hogwarts student, my letter of acceptance, I was saying, stated that only cats, toads and owls were admitted in Hogwarts. However I brought Anansi with me and this didn’t seem to cause any problems and it helped me make life-long friends.”

“I take that your pet Anasi was not an owl, toad or cat” the host said slightly tiredly but happy that someone had interrupted Angustifolia.

Lee nodded. “It was a giant tarantula.”

“Let’s have a pause for the commercials” David said quickly.

***

“It is just _intolerable_! Not to speak of all the cases of unregistered animagi which, I hope I don’t have to remind you, is a clear violation of Ministry rules.”

“I feel like this is about Sirius Black” said Tonks quickly “and if we are going to talk about him, we should also talk about the twelve years of imprisonment without trial for a crime he didn’t commit.”

Mr. Frenzen’s nostrils flared at what he thought was a low blow. Even if Sirius Black was innocent, in a bigger sense he was not. He went against what being a Black meant.

(By being, actually, an embodiment of all Black things. But he was a _rebel_ and Frenzen, a conservative, didn’t like that).

“Cedric is also animagus” announced Krum like a big old mountain that could suddenly speak.

“Is he?”

“Really?”

“Cedric? An animagus?”

This was big news. Very big news. However they were received with caution because it was Victor delivering them and Victor had a reputation.

“Yes. That is the truth.”

“What kind of animal?” asked Lee with interest. He liked animals.

“A blue dragon.”

Here was the thing. Both Victor and Cedric were the dream of any journalist. They accepted all requests for interviews, didn’t mind being stopped on the street, were always willing to give a quote on any topic and they looked really well on pictures. The only problem, so to speak, the only stain that marred such a delight, was their tendency to tell outrageous lies.

People thought that it was Krum’s quirk that Cedric suffered with patience, but Cedric did it too. They were both horrible.  They swore up and down that Harry was secretly a merman, hence why he spent so much time in the lake during the second trial, that Professor Snape was a vampire, that Bellatrix Lestrange was born a woman (which, given she had lived and died as woman, tended to throw people off) and that at least forty percent of France’s territory didn’t exist and was made with old film sets.

At this point, David Wadia had no idea of what the topic even was and Tonks was humming “God Rest Ye Merry Hippogriffs.” He looked down at his notes.

“How about… memories of the battle?”

“Yes, please!" Nott said pleasantly. "We all want to hear Lee talking more about his hammer.”


	22. The third promise

They arrived home, Remus, Severus, Sirius, Harry and Draco, thirsty and hot, with sweat on their necks and running down their backs which is the worst kind of sweat. They all had an itchy feeling that made them want to crawl out of their skins.

It was July. Almost a year after James’ death. James the proud father of two Ravenclaw girls. James the muggle. James who died alone in a forest but helped escape muggleborn Dean Thomas and squib Peoria and goblin Griphook. James whose last name nobody knew but who was very similar to that other James, James Potter.

Finding his family had been harder than expected which didn’t say anything good of the years of the war. So many people had disappeared that when you found one you didn’t know who it was because the list of candidates was too long.

Harry had made three promises, three mental notes in case he had mad luck and made it out alive. He had never thought that this would be the hardest one to fulfil. He had no idea of just how many people had been displaced by the war.

But at last he had found his full name, and together with Hermione and Draco and Dean and Peoria (who had new scars) and Griphook they had showed the place where they buried him to James’ family. Now they were back home with their eyes prickling and something uncomfortably logged in their throats. It was done and it was good, but everybody felt a bit worse for wear.

It was Remus who said the magic words because Remus just knew how to make people feel better. The words were:

“What do you think of going for a few days to the beach?”

What they thought, in order, was this:

Severus: No. I never liked the beach and I get sunburned, you know this.

Sirius: Yes to everything. (But that was Sirius’ default answer).

Harry: Holy Marmalade, yes! Yes, please! Come on. Yes! I want to have ice-cream for dinner every day. Do we have swimsuits? Never mind, I am already transfiguring one, look, it has blue stripes.

Draco: Didn’t particularly enjoy it when they went to Biarritz as a kid, but didn’t hate it either. Was quickly developing doubts at Harry’s unchecked enthusiasm. Might also get sunburned.

They went to the beach.

If both Remus and Harry wanted to do something then it was done. Sirius dropped an arm over both of his favourite Slytherins and ignored their protests while he levitated a camera so he could take a picture of the three of them in matching red and gold clothes.

They had a good time.

Well, Severus refused to go near the sand, wore long clothes that covered him from head to toe and still got his nose and cheeks sunburned. He also ate a lot of fish and fresh seafood, which he particularly enjoyed, so it wasn’t all bad. Besides, he was a Potion master, he knew how to make a good lotion for the sunburn. He supposed it wasn’t all terrible although he was already plotting how to get them literally anywhere else next year.

Draco also burned his shoulders and nose despite using sun lotion generously, and the sand scraped him everywhere. It wasn’t a terrible burn, though, and he enjoyed playing in the water with Harry. He also took control of Harry’s castle building project to make a beautiful palace with a French garden. His hair became even blonder, which no one had thought possible. Just as when he had left Hogwarts, he looked really well when he wasn’t perfectly groomed.

Remus tanned slightly and he looked as if he were made of gold and caramel. He had been a bit pale from his time in Azkaban and from later, when he was in hiding. Now he looked healthy and handsome and it probably had to do with Severus’ utter lack of complaints during the week.

Harry became golden brown, then deep brown, then he reached the point of looking like a different person altogether. His hair was tangled and dried from the salt and the sun and begging to be cut. He did not have ice-cream for dinner every day, but he ate lots of ice-creams anyway and he played a lot and he felt very normal. It was good, feeling normal. No DESTINY in all capitals hanging over him.

Sirius picked seashells (many went to the sand castle’s garden), chased the seagulls in dog form, played ball with Harry and Draco. He wrote letters daily, to Teresa (“I found a very pretty shell, this one I am keeping to make you a necklace”) and to Minerva (“I know how to go on holidays too!”). Whatever gloom hadn’t disappear under Teresa’s touch, it was washed away by the sea.


	23. Savasana

The first person to comment was probably professor Babbling. She had heard that the weird physical magic that Percival Weasley practiced to fall in trance and access his visions was called “yoga.” Naturally, since Severus Snape was an outstanding occluder he must know about it.

He did not. He knew enough about yoga to know that he wasn’t interested, he didn’t want to practice it and he would like for people to stop assuming he did so. Severus Snape was a man whose control of his mind was out of this world and the idea of someone telling him to relax and breath was laughable and preposterous. Also the clothes were ridiculous, especially the leggings.

He complained about yoga every single day until he suddenly stopped on a Thursday.

It was his second yoga class. He had complained after the first one because he did not need anyone to direct his breathing, he knew had to breath, had been doing it without help all his life. He had complained but he had gone back a second time because Severus Snape was also a man who liked to make informed decisions (even if all his life-changing decisions had been emotional reactions). He had returned and he had found that the breathing and the relaxing were still stupid, but he had also unknotted something on his back that he had believed was fused forever.

Tuesdays and Thursdays he went for an hour long session of yoga. Percy was there, had in fact recommended the place, and everybody assumed that they must be friends now. They were both spies, after all.

They were all very wrong. They were sort of friends, true, but nothing like people expected. They did not talk of spy things and magic of the mind and working to tear down Voldemort’s power. In fact, they hardly spoke at all which was the basis of their friendship: blessed silence.

Whenever someone came to talk to Percy they invariably talked about what that person had done during the war, how they had _known_ about Percy’s secret activities, Percy might had fooled others, but not them! _They_ always knew Percy was a good boy. Then they talked about their projects for the future, hinting at how a positive prediction would be welcome. Sometimes the order changed, and the plans came first and the assurances of knowing Percy’s nature went later, but those elements were always there.

People got angry when Percy didn’t want to give them a prophecy. After a time he started to give a blank prediction of swollen noses and bruised faces and egos. Oliver and his team were happy to carry the words of the prophet into action.

(Olivia had a lower hit count than say Adam Dominick, the humongous Beater, but she once headbutted a particularly rude Ministry official. It got her arrested, cheered, and high-fived by Ginny. Sirius went to pay her bail).

Severus, for his part, was told that they never had any doubts about his true allegiance (occasionally he pointed that neither did Voldemort so this affirmation didn’t mean a thing). People also asked him about what other long-term plans had Dumbledore left behind, if he was still carrying his orders, and when were they going to put Hogwarts back as it was.

It took both Severus and Percy almost three months to realize that when Kingsley Shacklebolt said any of that he was doing it on purpose to annoy them. The man was under a lot of stress and he found his entertainment where he could. Plus they had both been quite uncooperative so Kingsley thought they deserved all the “I never had any doubts about you” he could throw at them.

The same people who said all this rubbish thought that if Percival Weasley and Severus Snape were to be in the same room, they would  naturally speak of all those secrets only known to them. Instead, they were both quiet and it was a blessing. Not that they didn’t have wonderful people they could talk to, but Severus’ house literally hummed with music when it wasn’t the hum of a spell because someone (Sirius, Draco, Harry and Remus more rarely) was trying something. Percy had gone and attached himself to a gorgeous extrovert whose friends didn’t consider Percy’s utter lack of knowledge or interest in sports a hindrance and they _insisted_ on having him in the pub.

They went to the same yoga class, they went through the motions, they said “hello” and “goodbye” and enjoyed the rare company of someone who wasn’t compelled to fill the silence with inane chatter.

Maybe one of them would say that the hip-opener postures were more challenging for men. Maybe the other would point that the substitute teacher, a twinky young man with very big eyes, loved handstand postures but that neither of them was a fan. They both liked their heads and neck were they didn’t run any risks, thank you very much.

Percy said he liked muggle coffee. Severus said he didn’t. Percy mentioned that for a while he had developed addiction and, what’s worse, tolerance to sleeping and calming potions. Severus quickly listed the ingredients that provoked those effects and congratulated Percy on his decision of dropping all potions and taking yoga. Brief snippets of conversations while they waited for the class to start or while they rolled their mats at the end.

It was all very soothing.

Then, one day, Dumbledore’s name came up because Severus had had to suffer through a long meeting with Hogwarts’ Board of Governors. Percy said that inexplicably he had never trusted or liked the man and that that irrational feeling was what pushed him to work alone and to send Sirius and Remus to the twins. Severus, very gently, gave a couple of examples about Dumbledore…

And neither of them arrived home for dinner that night. The dams broke. The doors were ripped off their hinges. It turned out that they really had something to talk about for hours and hours and it was their general dislike of people, with Albus Dumbledore in an honour position at the top.

When they finally parted, after standing for three hours by the doors of the yoga studio, they were thirsty and hot and a bit dizzy and they hadn’t even started with Umbridge. She was left for another day.

Still, Severus refused to say anything about yoga. However on his birthday Sirius surprised him with a nice long-sleeved black t-shirt that he could use for yoga while hiding his Death Eater tattoo. It had, of course, a lion print because Sirius was inexplicably convinced that he was a funny man.


	24. The night before Christmas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! Thanks to all of you who commented, kudosed and read.   
> Whatever you celebrate, have a good time!

A year later

 

Twas the night before Christmas.

… There was quite a lot of stirring in the house. More than stirring. A continuous series of deep thrusts and a bed creaking ominously.

Percy was spread open and on his back, gasping. He was covered in sweat and his curls were a riot, a wonderful riot that turned Oliver mad with love and lust.

He buried a hand in Percy’s hair and with the other he grabbed a thigh, pushing the leg higher and getting a better angle, just a little bit deeper, just enough to make it all the more sweet. Percy whimpered under him and looked at Oliver with a lost gaze. He always looked a bit lost without his glasses on, doubly so now that he didn’t know what to do with himself as Oliver fucked him into the mattress in an attempt to make him forget his own name.

Percy moaned and sank down in the bed. Oliver could feel the sting of nails as Percy grabbed his shoulders tight and all he could do was smile and bite the lobe of Percy’s ear playfully. Percy was surprised and pleased by Oliver’s sudden and passionate ardour and he obviously didn’t know. For a guy that was so smart there was a lot that he didn’t know. Like how he had had twenty-nine nightmare-free nights. Twenty-nine. Oliver had counted each of them because they each felt like a victory. Twenty-nine good nights, only for Percy to start acting agitatedly this evening. Oliver really, really, really wanted to hit the one month nightmare-free mark so he was going to leave Percy utterly exhausted and blissed out so he would only dream of the sheets in their bed.

Oliver was very happy to do all this, of course.

***

Twas the night before Christmas. The house was _finally_ reasonably quiet.

Remus and Severus were sitting in their living room where a Christmas tree stood defying all norms of physics since there was no possible place where the tree could stand and yet there it was. They were now attempting to bend those norms further by putting wrapped gifts underneath.

There was an open bottle of wine and some Christmas treats on a plate. They drank the wine and ate the treats and kissed lightly on the lips while they put the presents in place.

Remus and Severus had two kids. They used to have just one and now they had two (some days three, depending on Sirius’ mood) who were old enough to be considered adults both in the wizarding and the muggle world. _Adults_. Yet here they were, living in their parent’s house (even if none of them had any blood relation) and getting nervous on Christmas’ Eve because tomorrow there would be _presents!_ And after dinner Severus had to make a soothing tisane for both of them so they could go to sleep, so excited they were.

They were aware that their life was quite ridiculous. They didn’t mind. They kneeled before the tree and put the box of chocolate wands and the sweaters and the bicycles and everything else.

***

Twas the night before Christmas and the house was quiet and still, all the inhabitants burrowed in bed. But it was a new house, the wood wasn’t settled and it creaked and groaned. There was the strange smell of new paint and new wood and new everything because they had lost it all and had to get it new.

It had been a terribly bizarre experience, new things in the Weasley household. The twins said that they had made quite a lot of money before they had to go into hiding so it was no trouble paying for the house to be rebuilt. Just as Percy said he had barely touched his handsome Junior Assistant to the Minister’s stipend and he could get them the furniture. Still, Ron had made some quick mental calculations and realized there were still almost five hundred galleons unaccounted for. Charlie admitted to having provided one hundred and fifty from his savings, Bill about the same amount. After some more prodding Bill also admitted that maybe some of Ron’s friends had quite literally thrown a velvet bag full of galleons to Bill’s face. (Fleur was kind enough to point the exact place where the bag hit him).

So the Weasleys had gotten a new house, slightly bigger and with a better foundation than the old one. Five of their children were living somewhere else but they all needed a parent house to go back to, to send things for storage, to have lunch on Sundays.

Ron had a room all to himself, a room he didn’t have to share with anyone, and he didn’t know how to sleep in it. There was no older brothers, no Gryffindor friends, no Harry, no Bill or Fleur or Ginny walking by because he was actually sleeping on the couch.

Ginny came into his room. She used to knock before entering. When you have such a big family you never assume that a room is empty and you learn to announce your presence. Then Ginny went to Hogwarts and befriended Luna (an only child) and Hermione (another only child, also she didn’t seem to understand the concept of knocking) and she stopped knocking on doors.

“My room smells weird” she said, knowing that Ron would be awake.

“Did you bring your own pillow?”

“It’s so fluffy! And the case isn’t see-through.”

Ron’s pillow also had a new pillowcase in a dark navy colour he had chosen himself. Chosen. It was dizzying not having everything be second-hand. Things felt taste-less and odour-less. They were also very bright and full of colour.

“All right, come in” he shifted to the side and let his little sister climb in. They had been together throughout all of the war. With their parents, with Bill, in Hogwarts, in Hogwarts with the twins. The only constant was each other’s presence, even now in this new house.

“Tomorrow morning” mumbled Ginny. She liked to sleep face down. “Can you help me switch one of George’s presents with one of mine? I think Mom knitted me something girly.”

“I’ll make a distraction” promised Ron.

***

Twas the night before Christmas and Mrs Zabini’s house was alive with the light of a fire in the earth and the playful glint of the chandelier hanging over her table. There was the clink of glasses touching each other after a toast, silverware and jewellery, and the sound of many voices making merry together.

It was a very happy evening and Mrs Zabini knew there was no point in suggesting that they go to bed. It was the party of the orphaned and rejected, the ones who had lost their families even if they were still alive. Her guests refused to feel miserable or alone or forsaken and they were going to stay up and be merry, as songs said, until they passed out.

Mostly it was Slytherin friends of Blaise. There was also old Mr. Pickerton whose goblin blood wasn’t enough to explain his ugliness and was awfully grateful to be included in the party because he so rarely got an invitation to high society. _And_ there was, of course, their dear Gryffindor boy. Made dearer still when he decided to stop trying to understand Slytherin minds and speech and opted to take them at face value. How fun he was.

Tomorrow, he would spend Christmas’ day with his family. Visit his parents at the hospital and have lunch with the grandmother and the uncle. But tonight, tonight he was hers and it filled Mrs Zabini with the proprietary pleasure of dragons and art collectors.

There had only been two instances, so far, in which she got to meet Augusta Longbottom. Two instances in which Mrs Zabini got to say in a breathy and smoky voice “Ah, Neville’s grandmother. How do you do, Madam?” She had been beautiful and polite and with just a subtle movement of her eyebrow she had said that the boy was spoken for. Augusta better be careful because Mrs Zabini was already adopting the boy, and so were the little snakes living at her house. Neville was valued there.

Not everything was schemes and manipulation for Mrs Zabini. Or maybe it was to such a complex degree that she had arrived to the other side. The truth was that a month ago, when the cold settled, she had given Neville a moisturizing hand cream that smelled like figs and pomegranates. It was winter and Neville said that his parents enjoyed working on the garden of Narcissa’s Mayor Institution for Long-Term Care. He hadn’t said anything else but it had been enough for Mrs Zabini’s devious and conniving mind to deduce that Alice Longobottom’s hands must be getting dry from the wind and the cold and they would benefit from having some cream applied whenever her son visited.

What she expected to get from this move was unclear. Maybe it was a single step in a complex long-term machination to build a net of influence. Maybe she just cared about Alice Longbottom’s hands.

***

Twas the night before Christmas and it was very late. Dinner had been eaten, coffee and dessert served, most guests had retired to their homes, and Sirius Black and Nymphadora Tonks were still singing carols with the joy and dramatic flair that only someone of the Black family can achieve.

Every so often, the adult muggles present (Eddie and Olivia did not count as adults as far as their mother was concerned) attempted to play a Christmas carol sung by The Beatles or Elvis. So far they had only gotten the first chords of _Wham!_ 's “Last Christmas” before it was drown by the Black’s personal rendition.

To be fair, watching Sirius and Tonks sing the “Little Drummer Boy” was a beautiful spectacle. Dangerous too, because they could get a bit too carried away with their wands. That had been the point when Remus had decided it was too late and time to go, come on everyone, say your goodbyes.

The happiest person in that reunion wasn’t Tonks who was healthy and full of energy; nor was it Sirius who had been celebrating with old and new friends and family for twelve hours now. It wasn’t Teresa, loved by a man and his family, and it wasn’t Ted Tonks who still couldn’t believe he hadn’t had to pay a higher price to survive the war.

It was Andromeda Black, who had gotten used to having a small family and told herself she didn’t mind and she didn’t care. Maybe she really didn’t, but this year her house was full of people and she didn’t have enough chairs and she had never experience that and she was very happy. 

***

Twas the night before Christmas and all was quiet in the Granger’s house. Not the house they had sold so they could move to Australia, that one had increased in value and they couldn’t buy it back. This was a new one, smaller and in a different city, north of London.

It was good enough. The three of them were there, it was good enough.

Hermione was fast asleep, burrowed under her feather comforter and with her hair acting as a second blanket. Crookshanks sat by the window, guarding her sleep in a hieratic silence. Hermione was having more nightmares now that she had had for the last four years together. This wasn’t a bad thing. It meant that she felt safe enough to let go and finally be afraid.

She wasn’t having a nightmare tonight. Tonight she slept well in a house that she shared with her parents, who were alive and well and not tortured at all, not like Neville’s parents (and Hermione had been so sure that Bellatrix would do something similar just to hurt her). She had her parents and her cat and herself, healthy and alive. All she had to show of the terrible years of the war was a simple ugly scar on her arm.

All was well. She could sleep in peace.

***

Twas the night before Christmas and Hogwarts was decorated for the occasion. There was, all in all, about the usual number of students who had stayed in the school. They expected more because the war had made quite a lot of orphans, but they had all been invited to some house or another.

Still, there were garlands and mistletoe and quite a lot of songs. Pomona presented the teachers with a bottle of liquor that she made herself and they all had a small glass.

And in a corridor near the office of the Headmistress, Nearly-Headless-Nick told Dumbledore everything about the Battle of Hogwarts that took place a year before. A year for Dumbledore to finally learn everything, a year in which they all had more important things than answering the questions of a dead man.

***

Twas the night before Christmas and the stars were shining in Harry’s and Draco’s room. From time to time a smiling moon could be seen crossing the ceiling and there was the smell of chocolate and freshly baked bread. Their socks had jumped out of the drawer and were, even at this hour, dancing a complicated Regency dance.

Draco had had to lie on top of Harry to get him to be still enough to fall asleep. Just as Harry avoided everything related to his birthday like the plague, and was very dubious of Halloween, he loved Christmas with the same fondness and purity of a five year old. Old enough to appreciate the colours and presents and magic, young enough to be innocent and make it all extra special.

“You can buy a box of chocolate wands any time of the year” Draco had told him earlier as they put on their pyjamas.

(Which, it must be said, were formidably ugly. Sirius couldn’t understand where did they get those shirts).

“They are not even that expensive” he added, because they were not. Less than a sickle.

“They don’t taste the same” Harry had said, and he was right. They didn’t. These were the ones given to him as a Christmas present and they were special. Just as this Christmas was special.

Twas the night before Christmas and everything was well for once.


End file.
